Second Thoughts
by Jinxed-Wood
Summary: SEQUEL TO 'HAMLET'S GHOST' - A spate of challenges lead Methos to suspect that the events of the past year had more to them than meets the eye....
1. Default Chapter

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**SECOND THOUGHTS ~by jinxed_wood.******

**(Sequel to 'Hamlet's Ghost')**

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**Disclaimer: Strangely enough, the concept of Highlander does not belong to me; you'll have to blame Panzer/Davis for that one – I'm just getting my toes dirty in their sandbox!**

**Many, many thanks to my Beta, Whisper.******

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**_CHAPTER 1_**

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**_Duncan:_**

Duncan MacLeod, of the clan MacLeod, was in a really foul mood.

It started before he even had awoken; his dreams full of nightmarish images of Richie's death, dreams that hadn't haunted him in over a year. But they were back, Duncan thought grimly, and back with a vengeance.

He had tried to burn away the images through his usual methods – one of his more strenuous Katas, followed by a long run.  It wasn't working, however. His feet pounded the Paris pavement, his eyes oblivious to those who passed him, as his memories welled up and overwhelmed him. Memories of Richie's escapades, Richie's laugh…

Grimacing, he came to a stop, bending over to put his hands on his knees as he caught his breath. "This won't do," he told himself. "I can't afford to dwell, not today."

Briefly, his mind flitted to the message he'd gotten the previous evening, three hurried words that Joe had left on his answering machine. "Tribeau's in town."

It had been nearly a year since he'd climbed off that volcano, a year since he'd given Tribeau even a second thought and now, out of the blue; he appears out of the woodwork. His first instinct had been to call Joe back, an instinct that he'd acted on. All he'd gotten, however, was Joe's message minder.

This morning, Duncan tried again, both Joe's apartment and the blues bar. One of Joe's staff had informed him that he had gone to see his accountant and would be back in a couple of hours. Duncan smirked as he remembered the hesitant voice on the other end of the phone. "Accountant, my foot," he thought dryly. "If that isn't a cover story for watcher business, I don't know what is."

He checked his watch and noted, with some surprise, that it was nearly eleven. "_Where has the morning gone to? Surely I haven't been running for that long…" _ The words trailed off in his mind as he noticed where he'd stopped.

Across the Seine loomed the massive bulk of the Louvre, he had just stopped a few yards short of the small bridge that crossed over to it. His eyes wandered across the street and rested on the little art store that stood there; the word 'Sennelier' painted above its facade. Tessa had loved this store, he remembered. She would literally spend hours rooting through the shop's old fashioned drawers, testing the pastels and pencils on scraps of paper before she made her choice.

"_This city is full of too many painful memories_," he thought ruefully, his eyes lingering on the window before he reluctantly turned and started his jog home. It was time to start looking for Tribeau… and he'd start at Joe's.**__**

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**_Methos:_**

Turning his collar up against the rain, Methos stepped out of the open doorway and onto the street. His shoulders hunching as the downpour began to pelt down in earnest, plastering his hair to skin within minutes. "_Welcome to the English winter_," he thought ruefully. "_I knew I should have gone to Bora Bora_."

It was lunchtime and the London streets were packed with the city's workers, glad to have escaped their offices despite the rain. He immersed himself in the crowd, careful not to look over his shoulder. Unfortunately, the presence was still there, it had followed him to work and had patiently waited for him outside the Museum's research building. He had hoped to give whomever it was the slip by departing through the side doors but it seemed that he was out of luck.

He knew that it was a challenge, it bore a familiar pattern; stalk and unnerve, then strike. It was the pattern of all three of the immortals that had hunted him in the last fortnight. The first one had struck on his way to the underground after a late night's research. Methos had thought nothing of it, merely that he had been unlucky to have come across another immortal – it was London after all.

The second struck barely five days later, in exactly the spot. Even that he shrugged away. He merely assumed that the second had been a friend of the first, looking for revenge. After disposing of the body, he made a note to take another route to the underground.

The third, however, made him sit up and take notice. Firstly, he was smarter than the others; he had done his research and had found out where Methos lived. Probably from the college records, he surmised. The challenger had been waiting for Methos when he got home, the bastard had actually made himself comfortable in his living room while he waited – he had even raided the fridge!

Methos frowned at the memory, was it his imagination or were the younger ones getting bolder everyday. "_At least_," he consoled himself, "_they also seem to be getting a lot more idiotic as well_."

All the same, he had dispatched the third challenger nearly as quickly as his less clever predecessors, maybe a little too quickly, Methos thought wryly. The immortals seemed to have been less like challengers, and more like cannon fodder. "_And here comes sucker number four_," he concluded, ducking into an alleyway.

He had not long to wait, hesitant footsteps splashed on the concreted pavement as the long coated immortal appeared at the open end of the alley. Methos slouched against the wall and waited for him to make his move.  Would the immortal enter and take up the obvious challenge, or would he retreat? Whoever he was, he was taking a long time to make up his mind. Methos was about to give up the game of waiting and force the challenge himself, when, all of a sudden, William took a step forward; away from the crowds and into the alleyway. 

"The name is William Crawford," he said, pulling out his sword in one swift movement.

"Adam Pierson," Methos replied easily.

"That's not what _I've _heard," the immortal said shortly.

"Oh, and what is it you've heard, exactly," Methos asked warily, reaching into his coat.

"I've heard that your real name is Methos," the immortal answered softly. "Is it true?"

"It doesn't really matter now, does it?" Methos asked, skirting the question. "Either you take my head and find out the truth, or I take yours and you will no longer care."

The immortal gave him a slow nod, accepting the answer. "So be it," he muttered, leaping forward, his sword raised.

The sound of steel echoed through the deserted alley way as sword met sword. The battle was fast and furious.  Methos quickly realised that Crawford knew what he was doing; this was no babe newly come to the fold of immortality.

They danced around each other, each probing the other for weaknesses in their defence. Grimly, Methos redoubled his efforts; he didn't want to give his challenger time to figure out his weaknesses.

The rain still hadn't let up, making the ground slippery and hard to manoeuvre on. Warily, Methos slowly backed up, luring his opponent further into the alley way. Crawford took the bait and leapt forward in a lunging attack, aiming for his chest. Methos dodged to the side and slipped his sword under Crawford's defences; sliding it across his stomach. With a hiss of pain, he fell to his knees and Methos drew back his sword for the final strike.

The head bounced across the alleyway, stopping at the far wall as the first tendrils of the quickening filled the air. Leaning against a garbage bin for support, Methos wearily steeled himself for the onslaught. 

The quickening crawled along the water logged pavement, creeping up the walls until it reached the wiring for the street lights. Sparks of electricity danced along their length, bursting free in a dazzling fireworks display as the light bulbs exploded, the sky darkened imperceptibly as the first bolts of the quickening hit Methos' body.

"_Oh…bloody hell…_" the words flashed across his mind before the quickening tightened its hold, gripping his body in a frenzy of pain and memories. 

At last, it ended, releasing Methos' body into a quivering heap on the ground. It didn't matter how many quickenings he took, he never could get used to them. The power and hatred behind every blow was staggering, he'd almost prefer a sword through the chest.

Staggering to his feet, his eyes fell on the beheaded body, muttering disgustedly under his breath. Picking up its feet, he dragged it to the other end of the alley until he found a small door that lead into a deserted building. After the last challenge, Methos had done a bit of reconnaissance around both his work place and home. He had picked this alleyway as a likely place to take challenge and had arranged to rent the single, empty building that opened onto it. 

Dumping the corpse inside, he went outside to retrieve Crawford's head and sword and quickly deposited them beside the body. Luckily, he didn't have to worry about the blood; the rain would take care of that.

Rooting around in the corpses pockets, Methos' hand curled around a wallet, he picked through it and found nothing but a few credit cards, some loose change and a driver's license that gave an Oxford address.

 He looked up and frowned at the separated head. "Who the hell were you, Crawford, eh?" he muttered. The head didn't answer. Not for the first time, Methos wished he could grasp tighter onto the memories that flitted through his head during a quickening, it would make things so much easier. 

Reluctantly, Methos got to his feet once more and glanced at his watch, it was nearly two and his luncheon break was coming to a close. Disgustedly, Methos looked down at his blood and rain soaked clothes before he rooted around in the far corner for a carry-all that he had secreted there for just this sort of occasion.

Pulling out the spare set of clothing, he changed quickly; he would just have to tell his co-workers that he spent lunch at the gym or something. A small smile flitted across his face as he imagined their reaction; a lunch break at the gym didn't really fit with the image of Adam Pierson, mild mannered researcher.

Checking his hands and fingernails for traces of blood, he at last pronounced himself ready to go back to work. Without a second glance backwards, he closed the door firmly behind him as he stepped, once more, out into the rain.

**_Joe:_**

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Joe poured himself another coffee from behind the bar as his mind mulled over the watcher meeting he had just come from, what had been said didn't bode well. Yet again there was a leak at headquarters, they didn't know how it was being done but too many heads had been taken in the last week for it to be otherwise.

The body count had risen through the roof; he had just got a report in from Amy that said that Methos had just taken his fourth head in two weeks. The same amount as he had taken in the two previous centuries put together. He had heard rumours that Amanda had been having a similar spate of challenges, though he couldn't verify that as he still hadn't managed to procure a watcher that could manage to keep up with her.

Then why, Joe thought puzzledly, hadn't Mac been approached by a single challenger? It was he, more than all the other immortals that he knew, who usually drew the most attention in that way. It was downright weird.

Joe took a sip of the black, bitter coffee as he flipped open the file that rested on the bar counter. In the last three weeks over fifty heads had been taken. Most of the challengers weren't known head-hunters and the immortals they challenged weren't known to be active in the game. They were no known obvious connections; some of them knew each other and some didn't. With a grimace, Joe closed the folder once more. He knew there had to be some connection; he just couldn't figure it out.

And he had to do it soon, Joe thought worriedly. Already there were rumours that the game was coming to a close and the final days were here. Joe would rather if they weren't, thank you very much. He cherished the hope that he would be long dead before the immortals were forced to bring the game to its final conclusion.

The front door opened and broke his train of thought, "Sorry, we're not open yet…" he called out, getting to his feet to see who it was.

Duncan strolled in, a determined look on his face and closed the door behind him firmly before he sauntered over to the bar. "Joe, we need to talk." 

Joe eyed the Highlander, wondering if somehow he'd managed to read his thoughts. Then, with a start, realised that Duncan had no idea about the sudden rise in immortal deaths; he was here about Tribeau.

Joe mentally kicked himself, he had been so immersed in the day's news that he'd completely forgotten about Tribeau's arrival in Paris. "Pull up a chair, Mac," he sighed, pouring a cup of the black brew for the Highlander.  "You're not going to like what I have to say."

"Don't worry, Joe," Mac muttered tiredly as he sank into the seat and wrapped his hands around the hot cup. "I'm used to bad news - spill." 

"There isn't much to say really," Joe admitted. "As you know, we never found out his true identity and the first time he's ever come up from under our radar was yesterday when he was seen coming out of Charles de Gaulle airport. The watcher who spotted he was waiting for his assignment's flight so he couldn't follow him, but he did get the license plate of his rental and phoned it in. We made a few discreet inquiries and found out he's travelling under the name of Jacques du Manier. He hasn't taken a hotel room, but has rented a small apartment in Montmartre instead, just off the old artist's quarter.

"So he's planning on sticking around for a while," Duncan concluded.

"It seems so," Joe agreed. "I was thinking of calling Methos and letting him know, but I thought I'd let you know first, seeing as you're already in the city. I put a watcher on Tribeau's place as soon as we got the address. Last I heard, he was seen entering the apartment this morning and hasn't emerged since. "

"Right then," Duncan said, getting off his stool. "I'll get onto it…"

"Wait a moment, Mac," Joe interrupted. "There's something else I want to talk to you about – you'd better sit down for this, actually."

Warily, Duncan lowered himself on the stool once more. "Let me guess," he muttered; a touch of sarcasm in his voice. "I'm not going to like this either."

"That's one way of putting it," Joe wryly told him, pulling a bottle of scotch out from underneath the counter. "Here, put some of this in your cup, I've a feeling that you're going to need it."

As Duncan doctored his coffee, Joe proceeded to fill him in…

**_Amanda:_**

Kennedy airport's toilets weren't the most luxurious of amenities but, as far as Amanda was concerned, they were a hell of a lot more attractive than what lurked outside in the departure area.

She couldn't understand it, she had thought she'd shaken off her immortal stalker the night before; she was sure of it, in fact. Yet there he was, waiting for her beside the check-in desk. Racking her brains she couldn't figure out how she had slipped up. She had used a fresh identity to book her ticket and had changed hotels last night. How the hell had he found her? He even knew which airline she had booked with.

Quickly, Amanda went over the possibilities, dismissing offhand the idea that it was some kind of sick coincidence. The only option that she could come up with was that she had been followed by a mortal, but she dismissed that too, not only would he have had to follow her to her new hotel he would have also had to tap her phone in order to know her flight details.

Glumly, she looked at herself in the mirror over the sink, this really wasn't her week. She'd had two other challenges in the last week and when challenger number three crawled out of the woodwork she decided that enough was enough; it was time to get the hell out of dodge. 

Ah well, no good crying over spilt milk, time to deal with the problem at hand - the creep awaiting her at the check-in desk.  Checking her watch, she realised that she had less than fifteen minutes; there was nothing for it but to brazen it out. Security in Kennedy was tight, she reminded herself, there is no way they would've let him stroll into the departure area with a sword, it was probably already stowed on the plane – just like hers, she wryly thought.

Amanda flashed herself a smile in the mirror as she smoothed her hair and threw back her shoulders. Peering closer at her reflection, she whipped out her lipstick and applied another coat. If she was going to try to pull this off, she might as well look her best.

Once she was satisfied with the results, she opened the door a crack and looked outside. He was still there, sitting in the row nearest the desk reading a newspaper. The area was now nearly deserted; most people had already boarded the plane.

As casually as she could, she strolled up to the desk and pulled out her ticket and passport, ignoring the drumming presence of the other immortal. 

The airline attendant gave at the passport a cursory look and glanced up. "Bonjour Mademoiselle, welcome to Air France. Is your trip business or pleasure?"

"Pleasure," Amanda answered dryly. 

"Very well, Mademoiselle, here is your passport and boarding pass, your plane is at gate twelve"

Passing through the door, Amanda spotted the other immortal approaching the desk from the corner of her eye; it seemed that she was going to have company on her flight to Paris.

**_Methos:_**

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Throwing his hands up in defeat, Methos stared glumly at the train he'd missed by moments as he stood on the empty platform. It really wasn't his day. At times like this, he missed having his own transport, but after the first week he had given up driving to work, London traffic was a bloody nightmare. Throwing himself onto a bench, he pulled out his newspaper and settled in for the wait, hoping that, for once, the trains were running on time. 

The presence of the other immortal crept up on him slowly, whoever it was, they were being very cautious. Carefully, he folded his paper and got to his feet. The soft sound of footsteps echoed through the deserted station and Methos' eyes wandered to the stairs as he fingered the hilt of his sword under his coat.

The immortal stepped onto the platform, sword in hand. "My name is Tsi Tsung Lee."

"You don't say," Methos drawled, pulling his sword free from its scabbard. "I've had a long day, Mr Lee. Let's get this over with"

Without further ado, the challenger attacked; his movements smooth and practiced as he slipped his katana into range. Their fighting styles were very similar, both preferring to be the aggressor rather than the one making the defensive moves and the next few moments were a blur as they both tried to gain the upper hand.

Cursing under his breath, Methos fell back as he felt the approach of yet another Immortal. "A friend of yours, Mr Lee?"

"I was about to ask you the same question," Lee grunted as he fought to regain his breath. 

The two immortals looked at each other, momentarily united by the new presence. Eventually, Methos spoke up. "How about we continue this another time?"

Tsi Tsung gave him a wry look as he slipped his sword into his coat. "I would much prefer not to," he admitted. "I hadn't been looking for a challenge, merely a ride home."

"You could have fooled me," muttered Methos, returning his sword to its scabbard as he eyed the stairs. He could still feel the presence of the third immortal, but whoever it was; he wasn't choosing to show his face.

"I'm a bit on edge at the moment. I've had two challenges in the last week."

"You have?" Methos gave him a speculative look. "Hmm…I've had a glut of challenges myself in the last couple of weeks, its enough to make one wonder…"

An uneasy silence fell, neither immortal said it but they both knew what the other was thinking; that it could be the first signs of the gathering. "How about a pint?" Methos suggested. "I've a feeling that we should exchange information. There is a good Pub not that far from here..."

**_Amy:_**

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Amy scowled as she listened to the laughter drifting from the cosy looking pub as she huddled under her umbrella across the street. Couldn't Methos have gone home like a good little immortal, she was drowning here! She didn't even have a car to sit into and keep dry, as she had to stick to the public transport system in order to keep track of him. 

For a moment she considered storming into the pub ands shaking her wet umbrella at him, but she figured that he mightn't be too pleased with her considering that his new companion was another immortal.

The soft buzz of her mobile interrupted her thoughts and Amy rooted around in her coat and pulled it out. "Yes?"

Joe's voice answered. "Hi Amy, it's me. I don't suppose that Adam is with you? I tried to contact him, but his phone is turned off."

"He's a little busy at the moment," Amy told him dryly. "He is making friends with a new immortal."

"It's not a challenge, is it?"

"Not unless the challenge involves drinking each other underneath the table," Amy retorted. "What's wrong?"

"Just checking up, really, I've heard that he took another head today."

"Yeah, it's the fourth time I had to call out the clean-up detail in the last two weeks – they're beginning to give me funny looks." A heavy silence came from the other side of the phone. "Joe…Dad, what is going on?"

"I'm not really sure, honey. There's just been a lot of activity in the last few months."

"What kind of activity?"

"The challenging kind - a lot of immortals have died in the last month, a hell of a lot."

"How is Duncan?" Amy enquired, suddenly worried. This kind of activity usually knocked on the Highlander's door. 

"That's the strange thing; he hasn't even had a whisper of a challenge in weeks."

"Hmm…do you have any theories about what's going on?"

"I don't even have the beginning of one, but I do have some other news."

"Please tell me that it's good," groaned Amy.

"I'm afraid not, honey. Tribeau arrived in Paris today."

"You're kidding me!"

"Nope, Duncan's is having a little 'talk' with him as we speak."

"Who is watching him at the moment?" Amy asked.

"Wilkins, he said that he'd report in the moment there is even a whiff of a challenge." 

"You mean they haven't crossed swords yet?"

"No, Duncan entered his house about half an hour ago and there hasn't been a peep out of the building since."

Amy frowned as she mulled the news over. "You don't suspect foul play?"

"Not yet, I'm going to give it another half hour before I start thinking otherwise." Joe said with a sigh. "So… when do you think you'll be able to get Methos by himself?"

A devilish grin spread across Amy's face. "Oh…sooner than you think, talk to you soon, Dad." Amy flipped the phone closed as she crossed the road; 'Adam Pierson' was about to bump into an old friend and buy her a drink!

TBC…


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

**Duncan:**

Stifling a curse, Duncan threw himself into an armchair and glared at the trembling immortal hunched on the couch across from him. Life would have been so much easier if he'd managed to take Tribeau's head before he'd opened his mouth; but he didn't, and now he found himself in a dilemma. 

If even a fraction of what Tribeau had said was true, every immortal's life could be in jeopardy, and Tribeau was possibly the only one who had the knowledge to stop it; what a depressing thought. Drumming his fingers on the chair's arm, Duncan glowered in frustration at the cowering immortal. "If I find that you've lied to me, Tribeau, your head will be mine," he threatened, watching the other immortal's reaction keenly.

"I'm telling you the truth, MacLeod," the other immortal insisted. "Believe me, I wish I _was _lying."

Duncan didn't know what to think, everything about Tribeau's body language told him that he was telling  the truth. Duncan examined the other immortal's face yet again; to say that Tribeau was a shell of his former self was putting it mildly. The man looked liked he had been on the run for months. Of course, if what Tribeau had told him was true, that is exactly what he'd been doing. "How could you have done it?" he roared, frustration colouring his voice. "Of all the foolish god-damn things to do…"

"Believe me, Highlander, if I had known then what I know now, there would have been no way I would have agreed to it. The man may have been my teacher, but my loyalty does not stretch to certain suicide."

"Oh nooo," sneered Duncan. "Of course it doesn't stretch to that - homicide, yes; psychotic tendencies, definitely; but never suicide…oh no, never that!" 

A spark of Tribeau's old arrogance resurfaced. "Listen, _boy_, you may not like what I am, and you definitely don't understand who I am, but that is beside the point. This may not be the gathering, but if my teacher gets his way, it might as well be. Like it or not, you need me alive. Without me, our kind is as good as dead – so get used to having me around." 

Wordlessly, Duncan got to his feet and headed for the door, only stopping when his hand was on the handle. Without turning around, he spoke, his voice flat with barely repressed rage. "I only need you for as long as you are useful, Tribeau," he warned. "The very moment I suspect that you're lying to me, you will loose your head – oh, and I wouldn't advise you to take any strolls while I'm gone. I may need you alive, Tribeau, but it will be on a very short leash."

"Having me 'watched', are you, McLeod?" Tribeau asked mockingly.

Duncan threw him a level look as he pulled the door ajar. "Always, Tribeau, always."

**Methos:**

The warmth of the pub was a welcome change to the weather outside and Methos took an appreciative sip of his beer, ignoring the covert glances Lee gave as he played with the stem of his brandy glass. Having a quiet drink with another immortal didn't seem to be a common occurrence for Lee, and his uneasiness was almost palpable. "So, Mr Lee, have you lived in London long?"

"Not long, just a couple of years, and you?"

"I've just moved here. It was time for a change of venue, if you know what I mean," replied Methos.

Lee nodded in understanding and relaxed into his chair. "After the events of the week, I'm thinking of moving on myself," he commented. "I don't know about you, but I prefer the quiet life and London seems to be getting a little crowded."

"Tell me about it," Methos drawled, lifting his glass in salute. "Which reminds me, have they started following you home yet?"

"No, why do you ask?" Lee asked suspiciously, stiffening in his chair.

"I noticed the wedding ring," Methos admitted, gesturing to his hand. "It might be best if you move your family to another abode for a while, Mr Lee. I've already had one unexpected 'visitor', and I've a funny feeling that there are more to come."

 "You seem to very certain that there is a pattern, Mr Pierson; has it occurred to you that there may not _be_ one?"

"You mean; have I considered the possibility that this might be a random sequence of unfortunate occurrences? Yes, I did, for about two minutes. Then I came to the conclusion I was better off paranoid, than dead."

"Plan for the worse, hope for the best," Lee agreed reluctantly. "So, what is it you want of me, Mr Pierson?"

"Information," Methos replied succinctly. "Did they give a name, had you met any of them before, did you get any indication of their age…you know, the usual"

"Name, rank and serial number, in other words," Lee said dryly. "They were both strangers to me, I'm afraid, and only one of them gave a name; he called himself Eoin McGovern. If I had to guess their age, I'd say that neither of them was old enough to have seen their second century."

 "My first three challengers fitted that same profile; I was beginning to think that I'd stumbled across the pattern until the last one showed up. He was older, had at least three or four centuries under his belt." Methos told him glumly. "There has to be some connection, some reason. Something other than…well…you know…"

The unspoken possibility loomed large in the air as they contemplated their drinks. "I'd rather consider the alternatives first," Lee admitted. "I'm not tired of life, just yet."

"That makes two of us," Methos admitted. "Oh shit…"

"What?" asked Lee, sitting up straight, his eyes scanning the room.

"Oh, nothing," muttered Methos as he watched Amy storm in through the pub door and make her way, unerringly, toward their table. "Just an unexpected addition to our little party."

"Why, Adam, fancy bumping into you here, of all places," Amy announced cheerfully as she pulled out a chair and sat down with a sigh of pleasure. 

"Yes, it's a small world, isn't it," He replied testily. "What brings you here, Amy?"

"Well, what can I say? I was in the neighbourhood on… business, and I decided to take shelter from the rain. It's not the kind of weather a girl likes to stand in, _for hours on end_" Amy replied with a false, bright smile.

"_Subtlety, thy name is _not_ Amy_," Methos thought ruefully as he noticed the questioning expression on Lee's face.

"So, Adam, are you going to introduce me to your delightful friend," Lee asked softly, leaning forward in his chair.

Amy, meet Tsi Tsung Lee. Tsi Tsung, this is Amy Thomas…a work colleague," Methos muttered, hoping that Amy wouldn't say anything to contradict him.

"Greek antiquities," Amy supplied with a saccharine smile. "And how do know our little Adam, Mr Lee?" It was all Methos could do to prevent himself from grinding his teeth.

"Adam and I are new acquaintances, we have…mutual friends," Lee replied, prevaricating.

Oh, that's nice," Amy chirped sweetly, and Methos seethed helplessly inside as her smile widened across her face. "It's always nice to make new friends, isn't that right, Adam."

"Oh, indeed," Methos muttered, not trusting himself to say any more, the girl was going to get herself killed, one of these days.

"Of course, it's not as nice as bumping into old friend after not seeing him for a while," Amy continued. "Why, just today my father was telling me he'd just met an old friend he hadn't seen in ages, he and Mr _Tribeau _had _so_ much to catch up on…"

"Is that so?" Methos asked tightly, his mind racing with the possibilities as he studied her face.

"It is," Amy told him, flatly.

"Okay, that's it," drawled Lee. "Will somebody tell me what the _hell_ is going on?"

**Amanda:**

**"**_Oh, wonderful, why is it that I can never find him when I need one? If I was planning a heist, he'd be here," _Amanda thought sourly as she approached the barge. _"He'd be up on deck, hands on hips, a big disapproving look on his face as his big brown eyes…aw heck, why isn't he here._"

With a disgruntled snort, she dropped her luggage on the deck before turning once again to examine the riverbank. She had spent the best part of the morning hopping in and out of taxis in order to shake her tail; but she couldn't assume, even for a moment, that whoever was following her wasn't aware of her friendship with the Highlander. 

Pulling her coat close, she perched on the corner of her suitcase. It was bitterly cold, but she didn't want to risk going down below. With only one entrance, there was also only one exit and, with mortals on her trail, she couldn't be certain of what might jump out of the shadows. She felt safer on deck.

An hour later, Amanda was on the verge of abandoning the barge and finding a hotel, when she felt touch of another immortal's hum dancing along the edges of her senses. Jumping to her feet, she sighed with relief as she spotted Duncan's familiar form approaching before bounding down the walkway. "Duncan, darling," she purred, throwing her arms around his neck.

"Amanda, love, what are you doing here?" he asked, surprised.

"What? No kiss?" she countered. "Aren't you happy to see me…" Her protestations were soundly silenced by Duncan's mouth as he caught her in a deep, lingering kiss. "I'm glad to see you, Amanda," he eventually murmured, when they came up for air. "But I really need to know why you're here."

"Someone is following me, Duncan. Well, actually, there are a few people are following me." 

"Immortals?"

"One that I know of, yes, but there is also at least one mortal following me too."

"I don't suppose there could be some reasonable explanation for your sudden popularity?" he asked, linking arms with her as he led her back up the walkway.

"If you're asking me if I've been a naughty girl recently, I assure you, Duncan, I've been a model citizen of late," Amanda told him, half torn between annoyance and amusement as she stepped onto the barge's deck. "There has been…" Turning to face him, she forgot what she was going to say as she examined the expression on Duncan's face. "What's wrong," she asked softly.

"Let's go down below, first," he suggested quietly, picking up her luggage as he did so. "I think you may need a seat to hear this."

Watching the Highlander trot silently down the steps into the cabin, Amanda didn't even try to suppress the shiver of foreboding creeping down her spine. Suddenly, Paris didn't feel so safe anymore.

**Joe:**

Grumbling under his breath, Joe sucked his thumb. He had just broken another guitar string and, this time, he hadn't been quick enough to get his hand out of the way. Serves him right, he supposed, for taking his frustrations out on his guitar.

Propping the guitar against his stool, he made his way off the stage and slipped behind the counter, giving Mike a nod as he poured himself a drink. Damn it, he hated it when he felt out of the loop, he felt so helpless.

His phone had rung only twice since Amy had hung up on him; Duncan's and Tribeau's watchers reporting in. Apparently, Duncan had left Tribeau's flat a few hours ago but, beyond that, they had little information. The only thing they could say, with any certainty, was that there had been no quickening. On top of that, Amy had yet to call back. This, more than anything, worried him. He'd had gotten to know his estranged daughter rather well over the last few years, and he was more than familiar with the mischievous lilt that coloured her voice when he'd last spoken to her; it usually spelt trouble. The phone rang and he pounced on it, earning a puzzled look from Mike as he did so. "Joe Dawson," he barked.

 "Good-day, Mr Dawson." It was the smooth voice of Mac's watcher, Wilkins. "I thought I should inform you that Amanda Darieux is in town. She and MacLeod have been closeted in the barge for the last hour, and have just emerged." Well, that explained why Duncan hadn't been answering his phone, Joe supposed.

"Thanks, Wilkins, keep me posted," he muttered, hanging up the phone and ignoring Mike's enquiring gaze as he took another sip of his drink. He had barely placed the glass to his lips when his mobile, tucked into his shirt pocket, began to ring; pulling it out, he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the registered number; it was Methos.

"Hey, Joe," drawled the ancient immortals voice in his ear. "I've heard that you've been having an interesting day."

"That is one way of putting it," Joe muttered back. "Is Amy with you? She's had her phone turned off all evening."

"She's here; all safe and sound. Actually, we're about to board a flight for Paris.  We should arrive at Charles De Gaulle in about an hour," came the laconic reply. "We'll make our way directly to the bar from there; any word from Mac, by the way? He's not answering his phone."

"Yeah, there is a lot of that going around, today," grumbled Joe. "I haven't heard from Duncan directly, but his watcher has kept me up to date. He visited Tribeau earlier on, but didn't take his head. Why, I don't know. He's still at the barge; Amanda has just arrived in town."

"Interesting…well, its all for the best, I suppose."

Was it his imagination, or was there something a little off in Methos' voice?  "Um, Adam, are you okay?"

"Oh, there is nothing _wrong, _if that is what you're asking. Just a few unexpected twists to the day - I'll explain everything when I arrive. I'll see you later, Joe." The phone went dead and Joe resisted the urge to phone him back, he'd probably already turned it off anyway.

Unconsciously, he began to hum a little tune under his breath as he picked up a rag and started wiping down the counter. Soon, he would have some answers.  

The phone rang…

**Methos:**

Peering around the car rental lot, Methos eventually spotted the SUV he had rented inside the terminal and stalked over to it; not bothering to check if the others were following as he did so. "_If only Amy had kept her mouth shut until Lee had left_," Methos fretted inwardly as he pulled out the keys. "_As if this day hadn't had enough surprises to begin with, now I have to deal with another immortal tagging along_." Lee didn't seem a bad sort, Methos admitted to himself, but he was an unknown - and that never boded well, in Methos' opinion.  

He had already filled Lee in on the events of the previous year - well, the official version of it. The one which stated that the Methuselah stone was destroyed in a volcano in Russia, not buried under the patio of his holiday home in Bora Bora. He had avoided mentioning the watchers by name as well, though that had been a bit more difficult. Lee had raised an eyebrow on more than one occasion, especially when he asked how a bunch of mysterious 'historians' had gotten involved in the whole fiasco. He didn't look too impressed with Methos' skimpy explanation either. But, satisfied or not, once Lee realised the implications of their story, he declared he was coming along. "I want to meet this immortal," he'd told them, an ominous note in his voice. "I want to see what such a man would look like."

It was going to cause problems when they got to Joe's, he mused. With Lee in their midst, it will be hard to speak openly about their plans. This could very quickly get extremely messy. 

Popping the boot, he threw the carryall into it and grumbled under his breath as Amy threw her luggage on top, earning him a scowl from the pretty watcher. They were all travelling light, Lee most of all. When he had learned that they were leaving for Paris on the next flight, he phoned his wife and told her he was leaving town for a few days; he'd also told her to go and stay with her sister while he was gone, Methos noted. He suspected that Lee thought he would have tried to ditch him if he'd gone home to pack – and he was right, Methos admitted silently to himself.

"So, this Joe, he is a historian?" asked Lee again, when they had all piled into the car. 

"Yes," Methos replied shortly.

"But he also runs a bar?"

"Yes"

"A blues bar?" 

"_Yes_."

"I see."

Methos was only too aware that Lee knew they holding something back, but he didn't want to tell Lee more until he'd run a background check; he hadn't had enough time to log onto the watcher database before he left London. Methos didn't _think_ Lee was hiding any nasty surprises, but he had been fooled before and it never hurt to be cautious. Better paranoid, than dead, as he had told Lee, earlier on.

Paris traffic was light; they had taken the last flight out of London and it was nearing midnight. He had tried Mac's number, yet again, when he landed; but he still had his answering machine turned on. If he wasn't at Joe's he'd have search him, and he wasn't too happy with the prospect of that Lee tagging along as he did so.

Before long, before they pulled into the alley beside Joe's bar, and Methos' heart sank when he noted the absence of another immortal's buzz; where the hell were Duncan and Amanda? 

The bar was quiet when he entered, the chairs were already overturned and propped on the tables. Joe had obviously decided to close early. Not that surprising, all things considered, but Methos couldn't help but feel uneasy as he eyed the empty room.

As Lee and Amy tumbled in through the door behind him, he scanned the room in puzzlement; Joe was nowhere to be seen. He had to be around here somewhere, he reasoned, or else the door would have been locked. "Joe?" he called out. Quickly, he descended the steps and looked around.

"He might be in his office," Amy suggested.

Nodding, Methos headed for the door beside the stage.

The door opened before he reached it, however, and a relieved looking Joe poked his head out. "Hey, old man, am I glad to see you…" The grizzled old watcher stiffened as he noticed Lee's presence. "You brought a friend," he stated grimly, giving Methos a hostile look as he stopped in his footsteps.

"Joe Dawson, I want you to meet Tsi Tsung Lee," Methos said.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr Dawson," Lee said softly. "Mr Pierson speaks highly of you."

"Charmed, I'm sure," Joe dryly replied, but Methos noticed how some of the tension had gone out of his shoulders as he heard Lee's name. His name had obviously rung a bell, and whatever Joe knew about Lee, it didn't alarm him. It didn't clear the annoyance from Joe's face, however.

"Where are Duncan and Amanda?" Amy asked, breaking into the lingering silence. "Neither are answering their phones."

"They're on their way here," Dawson said quietly, glancing at Lee uncomfortably. Methos knew how he felt; he wasn't looking forward to this either.

Tired of the growing uneasiness in the room, Methos strolled over to the bar and stepped behind the counter. "I think we all need a drink, what is everybody having?" For a moment, he thought that Joe was going to argue, but the blues man just shrugged instead. "_Well, that doesn't bode well_," Methos thought wryly as he watched Joe perch himself on one of the barstools. It was almost a ritual for Joe and he to squabble over his cavalier appropriation of Joe's beer taps. Obviously, something had happened since they'd last spoken.

I'll have a scotch on the rocks," he volunteered, and Amy will have…"

"A gin and tonic," she piped up, snagging the stool beside her father.

"What will you have, Lee," Methos asked, managing to keep his voice genial. Damn it, why couldn't the man take the hint and go to the toilet, or something? He needed to talk to Joe, and fast. The usually chipper watcher looked like he'd been run over by the ten tonne truck. What the hell was going on?

"A cognac, if there is any," Tsi Tsung replied. He was still standing, Methos noticed.

"Its Paris, Lee," Methos pointed out. "There is always cognac."

"True," Lee admitted, a small smile hovering on his lips as he gently sat on one of the barstools.

The room was silent; the unease growing by the second as he quietly prepared the drinks. If MacLeod didn't arrive soon, Methos irritably thought, he might well end up taking Lee's head just to break the tension. 

Catching his eye, Amy leaned forward, a determined look on her face. "I don't know about you," she muttered softly into his ear as bent his head to listen. "But I've had as much of this as I can take. We either trust him, or we don't. Either way, I think the decision has to be made now." 

"Duncan isn't here yet. We'll wait," Methos whispered back, placing her drink in front of her. "Now, drink up, there's a good little watcher." Amy's lips tightened into a thin line as she glared at him through narrowed eyes, and Methos braced himself for angry words. The argument never came, however. Giving him an abrupt nod, she took a sip of her gin and tonic. "_Well, that was…too easy. What the blazes is she up to._"

That puzzle fell to the wayside, however, as the approach of another immortal brushed along his senses. Taking out two extra glasses, he pulled a bottle of scotch off the shelf. Company was coming.

**Amy:**

As one, Lee's and Methos' heads jerked up, and Amy looked expectantly at the door. Sure enough, it swung open, and a cold breeze ushered  Duncan and Amanda into the room.

"About bloody time," her father called out as the two descended the steps. "I was beginning to think we might have to send out a search party."

"Sorry, Honey, Amanda said breathlessly, eyeing Lee uncertainly as she neared the counter. "We were unavoidably detained."

By now, Duncan had also spotted the new immortal, and casually sauntered over to Amanda's side. "Duncan MacLeod," he said levelly, ignoring the chuckle that came from behind the bar.

"I've heard of you, Mr MacLeod," Lee replied easily. "My name is Tsi Tsung Lee, and I haven't come looking for a fight. Well, not with you, anyway."

"Well, now that you two have squared off," interrupted Methos, leaning his weight on the bar. "Perhaps we could move onto the subject at Hand – Tribeau." 

Amy eyed her 'assignment' warily, his manner was jovial, but his eyes gave him away. She had seen that look before; she'd had the dubious honour of seeing it on more than one occasion in the last few weeks - when he'd taken the heads of those who had hunted him.

"Tribeau?" asked Duncan, throwing a questioning glance in Lee's direction."

"Tsi Tsung knows about our present situation," Methos explained wryly. "He wants to lend a hand." Joe stiffened in his chair beside her and, in a flash; Amy knew what he was worried about. Tapping his arm, she caught his eye and shook her head slightly, smiling as he relaxed into his seat. Inwardly, though, she worried about the days ahead. Lee was not stupid, and she sincerely doubted that they could keep the watcher's secret from him for much longer.

A small frown appeared on Amanda's face. "I see," she murmured as she sat. "Well, many hands make light work, I suppose."

"I don't suppose any such thing," Duncan pronounced, scowling. "We have enough on our plate without having an unknown in our midst."

Methos eyed the Highlander warily as he took a sip of his beer. "Okay, Mac, spit it out. I know Tribeau is in town, but his presence is hardly a world-shattering event. His power base was effectively neutralised when we destroyed the stone."

Wearily, Duncan threw himself into an empty chair. "It's a bit more complicated that that," he said softly. "Apparently, Tribeau wasn't working alone. He had – has – a boss."

"Interesting," drawled Methos. "And does this boss have a name."

"Tribeau calls him Patrick Wren, but I doubt that's the name he was born with. Tribeau intimated he was old – and dangerously psychotic."

"Oh, I see, and is that your professional opinion, Doc," Methos asked, a slight smile growing on his face. "Really old, and not the full shilling?"

"Let's put it this way. Not only does this guy want to rule the world, he also has a step by step plan..."

"Which ended in a heap of volcanic ash," Methos pointed out.

"…And so, he's moved onto plan B."

A small hush fell in the room as Duncan's words sunk in. Eventually, Amy couldn't take it anymore. "Oh for crying out loud," she blurted out. "Just tell us what he said"

"It's quite simple, really," Duncan said, sighing. "To cut a long story short, Wren has apparently decided to go after the prize."

"I hate to break it to you, Duncan," Methos muttered. "But we're all after the prize; it's the whole point of the 'Game', after all."

"True," Duncan conceded. "But I think even you'll admit that none of us have claimed that we know of a way to trigger the gathering…"

TBC…


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

**Methos:**

With slow deliberation, Methos poured himself another beer. "And does Tribeau know how his 'boss' plans to accomplish this?" he asked quietly, placing the glass on the counter.

"If he does, he's not admitting to it," Duncan dourly told him. "Tribeau realises the only thing keeping his head on his shoulders, is the knowledge he keeps inside it." 

"That sounds like Tribeau, alright," muttered Joe. "So what, exactly, _has_ he told you?" 

"Well, firstly, Wren was his teacher," Duncan said. "He didn't go into much detail, but I got the impression their relationship was…complicated.

Methos cocked an eyebrow. "Define 'complicated'?" 

"Frankly, I don't think Tribeau likes him very much."

"And yet, he worked for him," Methos observed.

"Yes, I couldn't figure that out either," Duncan admitted, "At first, I thought Tribeau followed him out of fear; but after speaking with him for a while, I changed my mind. Don't get me wrong, I think Tribeau is afraid of Wren, I just don't think it was the reason for his 'loyalty'."

"Blackmail, perhaps?" Lee suggested.

Methos looked up; he had almost forgotten that Lee was in the room. "Perhaps," he eventually said. "Although, I can't imagine what Wren could blackmail him with." 

"Well, whatever it was, it wasn't enough to prevent him from singing like a canary once Duncan caught up with him," Joe said briskly.

"With all due respect, "Lee said. "It doesn't seem to me that Tribeau has very been forthcoming so far, he's merely told us enough to keep him alive, and he might be reluctant to share any more of his secrets."

"You're right," Duncan said. "But Tribeau broke ties with Wren about two months ago and has been on the run ever since. Apparently, Wren doesn't like his lackeys to retire from service." 

"So Tribeau picked the lesser evil," Methos concluded, "The probability of being killed by one of us, versus the certitude of being killed by Wren."

"Pretty much, yes," Duncan said. "Not the making of a beautiful relationship, I know. But at least we know he's not about to double cross us."

"Do we?" Amy asked worriedly. "I mean, it could be all lies. He may be still working for Wren."

"I doubt it," Methos said with a smirk. "It doesn't take a genius to see how Wren's new agenda could become detrimental to an immortal's health. After all – _there can only be one._" 

"Yeah, I can see how that might put a crimp in their relationship," Joe said with a small laugh.

"Do we have any other information about this Wren," Lee asked.

"Hmm, as you've probably guessed, Duncan called me before you all arrived, and filled me in," Joe piped up. "I did a bit of checking…"

"Let me guess, you called a few of your fellow 'historians'" Lee interrupted dryly.

"Yeah…something like that," Joe drawled, throwing Methos a sideways glance which promised unpleasant things in the elder immortal's future. "_Anyway_, we're not exactly sure when Wren's first death occurred, but we do have a record of a few of his older aliases; the oldest reference we found was from the second century B.C.E..

"Oh perfect, the Bronze Age, my favourite era," Methos muttered darkly. "This isn't going to be good, is it?"

"You're right," Joe said. "It isn't; According to my sources, he was a Roman general, instrumental in the downfall and destruction of Corinth and Carthage – the chronicler in question went to great pains to describe Wren's 'conquests'. Let's just say his zealousness, in quelling the local population, went way above the call of duty. His name was Octavius Septimus; ring any bells?"

Nothing springs to mind, no," Methos admitted. "Have you anything more recent?"

"Well…he made a small fortune sailing the slave routes, during the eighteenth century, under the name of James Worthington," Joe offered.  "He used to pick up Africans on the Ivory Coast, and then ship them to Jamaica."

"Slaves for sugar," said Methos with a nod. "It was common practice during the day, until the British parliament closed the legal loop-hole."

"Sounds like a real stand-up guy," Duncan said sarcastically.

"Oh, it gets better," Joe said grimly. "During the twentieth century he went world-wide; underworld stuff mostly; drugs and arms smuggling – anything that could make a quick buck."

"But of course, one needs funds when plotting world domination," Methos said sarcastically. "And think of all those handy connections he must have made over the years…shit."  He rubbed his eyes. "This isn't enough, you know; it's all very well to know where the money came from, but what we really need to know is where it's going."

"I can't help you there, I'm afraid," Joe said. "I've got facts and figures, but little else."

"Which means we're stuck with Tribeau's sparkling personality for a little while longer," surmised Methos with a grimace. "Damn, I was hoping we could manage without him. I really despise that man; just looking at him puts me in a foul mood…alright, I think it's time we had a chat with Tribeau – there's no point in putting it off. 

"Just give me moment 'til I get my coat," said Joe, getting to his feet.

"Take your time, Joe," Methos muttered, already lost in his own thoughts. Try as he might, he couldn't figure out how Wren planned to trigger the gathering; the very idea was fantastical. He wished he could dismiss the idea out of hand, but the events of the year before had made him wary of making such assumptions.  "_I need more information; otherwise I'm just clambering around in the dark,_" he thought in exasperation. Looking around, he took in the faces that surrounded him. "Cheer up guys; it's only the end of our species." 

Rolling his eyes, Duncan placed his glass tumbler on the counter and stood. "I'm not sure if I'm in the mood for your sense of humour, Adam," he grumbled.

"Mea Culpa," Adam mumbled distractedly. "Is it my imagination, or is Joe taking a hell of a long time getting his coat?"

"I'll go get him," Amy said, crossing the bar's floor and slipping through the door. 

"Yeah, you go and do that," Methos muttered under his breath.

"Relax, Adam," Amanda said quietly. "We'll get to bottom of this."

"Only if we live long enough," Methos countered. "I don't know about you, but in the last few weeks the amount of people after my head has increased exponentially – and something tells me it isn't a coincidence…tell me, Amanda, what has brought _you_ to town at such a fortuitous time?"

"Picking an argument with me isn't going to help, Adam," Amanda said. "You know very well why I'm here; I'm being hunted, just like you."

"Yes, you are, aren't you?" Methos said thoughtfully, a germ of an idea growing in his mind. "Tell me, Lee, how old are you?"

"Why do you want to know," Lee asked warily.

I've just realised we may have been going around this the wrong way. We've been looking for a connection among the hunters when, perhaps, we should have been looking for a connection among the hunted. How old are you?"  

"Let's just say that I've seen my first millennium come and go," Lee admitted reluctantly.

"And we've got a winner," Methos said. 

"What are you trying to say, Adam," asked Amanda, curiously.

"Well, look at the four of us," Methos explained. "Four immortals, three of us are being hunted, while the fourth is not; what do we three have in common, that Duncan doesn't qualify for?"

"You're kidding me," Amanda said. "Are you saying you think we're being targeted because of our _age_?"

"It makes sense, if you think about it," Methos insisted. "If you were going to force the start of the gathering, who would you go after first; the very young immortals or the very old?"

The office door opened with a bang and Amy ran into the room; interrupting Methos's train of thought. "It's Dad," she panted. "He's gone."

**Amy:**

Amy watched in a daze as Methos and Duncan examined the back office for clues; nobody entertained the idea he'd left voluntarily.

"I don't understand how he could have been taken without us knowing," Amanda said, leaning against the doorway. "Surely we would have heard something."

"Not if it was someone he knew - someone he trusted," Methos replied grimly as he examined the back door's lock. "The door hasn't been forced, which means Joe let him in."

"Or he had a key," Amanda added thoughtfully.

"No…only Dad had a key to the back door," Amy supplied softly. Taking a shaky breath, she sat down on the sofa. "And he wouldn't have let anyone in here that wasn't involved in…his research," she said, remembering Lee's presence just in time.

Methos looked at her sharply. "Give me a moment, while I check the back alley," he eventually said, disappearing out the back door.

A reassuring hand fell on her shoulder, and Amy looked up into Amanda's concerned face. "Everything is going to be okay," she murmured, sitting down beside her. "If they were going to kill him, they would have done it here."

"Miss Darieux is correct," Lee said, looking around the room with curiosity. Amy suppressed a wince as she saw his eyes rest on a file on the table; the watcher logo was emblazoned on it's cover. No recognition registered on his face, however.

The back door opened once again, and Methos hurried into the room; a grim look on his face. "I found a cloth dowsed with chloroform in a dumpster in the alley."

"Well, that explains how he was taken without a fuss," Duncan observed. "Now, all we have to do is figure out _who's_ taken him. I think our talk with Tribeau is long overdue."

"Yes, it is," Methos said brusquely. "Let's go." Once again, he slipped out the back way, leaving the others with no option but to follow him. Outside, Methos was already starting his engine when they caught up with him.

"Oh no, you don't," Amy muttered, running ahead. Pulling open the car's backdoor, she jumped into the backseat before he pulled away. "Thanks for waiting," she said sarcastically as Methos' car lights flashed onto the open street.

"I knew you'd catch up," he said, smiling at her through the rear-view mirror. "It's a pity I can't say the same for Lee." 

"That's probably because he was under the mistaken impression that you'd wait for him - not hit the accelerator as soon as you saw him!"

Methos' shrugged his shoulders. "I thought it might be a good idea to have a few words with Tribeau, before Lee came onto the scene," he explained. "Tribeau knows who I am, remember? If Lee ever needs to know my true name, it will be on my own terms. Besides, I'm sure Amanda, and Duncan, will be only too happy to give him a lift"

Of all the things that really irritated Amy about Methos, this was one of her pet peeves; he always had a reasonable explanation for everything he did – including being obnoxious. "Oh…whatever," she mumbled stubbornly; knowing that she sounded like a sulky teenager. 

The Paris streets flew past as Methos put his foot to the pedal and Amy belatedly put on her seatbelt. She hoped they weren't any gendarmes watching the traffic; the last thing they needed was to be pulled over. Although, in the mood Methos was in, he might just ignore them; that would look interesting in her next report: "_At three-thirty a.m., my subject was involved in a car chase with the Parisian police. I covertly watched him as I held onto the edges of his backseat_." The watcher's council would have a field day. They had turned a blind eye to her participation in the Russian fiasco the previous year, but only because of the involvement of rogue watchers.

 This time, they would throw the book at her. They never approved of her friendship with Methos in the first place; it was only because some of the upper echelons of the Watchers council were aware of whom Adam Pierson really was, that they tolerated her as his watcher. Methos had quite a reputation for disappearing into thin air when he didn't want to be followed, and the council suspected that Methos hadn't vanished this time because of his friendship with Amy, and her father.

"We're here," he said tersely, slowing the car to a halt.

She leaned forward and squinted through the front windscreen. The street was awash with police. "What's going on?" she asked, puzzled.

"Stay in the car, I'll find somebody to talk to." Glumly, Amy watched as he got out of the car and walked over to the nearest gendarme. Why couldn't things go to plan, for a change? Headlights flooded through the rear window and Amy looked over her shoulder, only to see Duncan's car pull in behind.  Jumping out of the car, she met them halfway.

"Where's Adam," Duncan asked, looking around.

"He's over there," She said, pointing to where Methos was talking to the gendarme. It didn't look as if it was going well; Methos had already resorted to waving his arms about, a thing he only did when he got annoyed. 

"I'll go and see if I can help smooth things over," offered Amanda, obviously coming to the same conclusion as Amy.

"I'll go with you," Duncan said grimly, squaring his shoulders. 

"Play nice, Duncan," Amanda said. "Remember, you catch more flies with honey.

Rolling his eyes, he followed her. A polite cough caught her attention, and Amy turned to greet Lee, who had just got out of Duncan's car. "It seems that there has been a quickening," he said, pointing at the damaged electricity lines and the shattered glass that covered the street.

"Seems like that, yes," she replied absently; a thought just occurring to her.  Her father had appointed a watcher to keep tabs on Tribeau's home, which meant he was probably still around; perhaps she could get some answers after all. "Maybe you could help the others get some information?" she suggested to Lee, waving in Methos' direction. She didn't want him trailing behind her while she hunted down a watcher.

"Are you sure?" he asked, concern colouring his voice. "I can keep you company, if you prefer."

Feeling slightly guilty, she smiled at him reassuringly. "Oh I'll be fine," she said. "You go on ahead."

After a moment's hesitation, he nodded and ambled up the street after Duncan. Taking a deep breath, Amy quickly crossed the street and looked around for a likely place to hide. Strolling as nonchalantly as she could, she examined the street and spotted a narrow alley; it seemed a likely spot for a watcher to pick. Keeping an eye on the policemen who patrolled the other side of the street, she slipped into the darkened alley. She had not gone far when she spotted a pair of feet poking out from behind a dumpster. Her heart in her mouth, she hastily pulled out her gun and advanced.

Slowly, the rest of the body came into view; he had been shot at close range, and the resulting mess wasn't very pretty. Wincing, Amy eyes flitted towards the shadows as she slowly leaned down and glanced at his wrist; the mandatory watcher's tattoo was on his wrist.  "You probably didn't even see it coming, did you?" she muttered, forcing down the bile that rose in her throat. 

Taking a deep breath, she searched his coat. Most watchers used a digital video in the field nowadays; but she didn't expect to find that, whoever had killed him had obviously tried to cover his tracks. She was looking for his back-up; most watchers carried a Dictaphone or notepad for their own, personal, observations. In his inside pocket, she hit pay dirt - a small personal Dictaphone.

Quickly, she stood up and re-holstered her gun. All things considered, she didn't think it would be a good idea to stick around until the gendarmes stumbled across the body. Redoubling her steps, she made her way out of the alley – and promptly ran into Methos. "Um…hi," she stuttered guiltily. "Where are the others?

"They're still talking to the gendarmes - I thought I told you to wait in the car," he drawled.

"I got curious."

"Hmm…so did you find anything interesting; A certain watcher, perhaps?"

Sighing, she held up the Dictaphone. "He's dead; this was all he had on him."

"Let's go, then," he said. "Time is a wasting."

"But…what about the others?" Amy protested as Methos guided her by the elbow towards his car.

"Oh, they're busy helping the police with their enquiries," he said with a smirk. "As Amanda introduced herself, and Duncan, as close, _personal_, friends of Tribeau, the police want them to identify the body at the coroner's office."

"And Lee?"

"I'm sure he won't mind keeping them company for a while."

"Where are we going?"

"Back to the bar, I want to check Joe's database." 

Amy didn't even bother to point out that he wasn't supposed to be snooping around in the watcher's files; he'd just ignore her anyway.

**Joe:**

With a groan, Joe lifted his head as he came to, and squinted into the surrounding darkness. "Hello?" he croaked. "Anybody there?" The room was pitch black; not even a sliver of light entered the room. "Where the hell am I," he muttered, struggling against his bindings. Whoever had tied him up, however, had known what they were doing. As he slumped into the chair, his memories came flooding back; how a local watcher has knocked at the door and he'd let him in, realising a moment too late that the watcher had a gun to his back. Before he knew it, a cloth had covered his face and he had blacked out.

A shiver went down his back; wherever he was, it was cold and damp; a cellar, he thought. For a fleeting moment, he wondered what had happened to the other watcher, probably dead, Joe ruefully concluded. Once again, he struggled against the ropes, trying to find a weakness in the knots; then he realised the ropes were the least of his problems. He may not be able to see his legs in the dark, but he'd worn his prosthetics for many years, and knew when their familiar weight were no longer present.

Cursing under his breath, he decided to try the only option left open to him – yelling his head off. "Let me out of here, you bastards!" Struggling wildly against the ropes, he felt his chair begin to rock. "I _said_, let me out of here, you jumped up son of a bitc…" A loud clanging noise fill the air and Joe smiled grimly in the darkness as he heard footsteps draw near. "About bloody time!" he roared as his head swivelled in the direction of the noise.

The room flooded with a bright light, making Joe blink as his eyes adjusted. He heard the sound of a bolt slide open, then a second one. Quickly, Joe looked around his 'cell', it was bare except for the chair he was sitting on; concrete walls, concrete floors – and no window. "Well…I won't be pulling a Houdini act, anytime soon," he murmured as the single, iron, door swung open.

The face that peered in surprised him; he had been expecting the guy who had put him under with the chloroform, not the petite woman in front of him. "Who the heck are you," he burst out as she slowly entered the room. 

"I'm the one asking the questions, not you!" she pronounced, crossing her arms as she looked at him with, what he could only describe as, distaste.

"Listen Lady, you can ask all the questions you like, but I ain't telling you squat," Joe replied harshly.

"Believe me, once we've finished with you, you'll have told us everything you know," she said smugly, leaning against the wall. To Joe's ears she sounded British; but he couldn't be certain. Not that the knowledge would do him any good at the moment, but it might come in handy later.

"My, my, we are full of ourselves," he goaded. "And who are 'we', exactly?"

"I've told you already, I'm the one asking questions," she said heatedly.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Joe snarled. "Sing me a new one. Who's in charge around here?"

"Shut up." 

"Make me!"

Her face darkened as she stood up straight, squaring her shoulders as she took a step forward and grabbed him by the chin. "That can be arranged," she said threateningly.

Joe's eyes wandered to her wrist. "You're a watcher," he said accusingly, as he noticed the tattoo. "What the hell do you think you're doing, kid? Who are you working for?"

"_You_ are lecturing _me_," she said disbelievingly, stepping back. "It's because of you that I ended up here; you and that self-righteous watcher's council." 

"What the hell are you talking about, kid," Joe asked, puzzled. "I've never met you before, in my life."

"Oh, come on," she snorted. "Surely your memory isn't that bad? Remember last year? When you and your cronies passed that death sentence on me?"

"Oh, you were one of the watchers involved with Tribeau," Joe surmised resignedly.

"_Involved?_" the watcher said angrily. "I hadn't even heard of the man's name until I was called before the tribunal! How was I supposed to know my superior was a renegade? I did was what I was ordered; it was my job. "

"And what, exactly, were your superior's orders?" Joe asked cynically. "Somehow, I don't think the council dragged you in front of a tribunal for stealing a few paper-clips." 

"It wasn't like that," she said heatedly. "I was in human resources, he just asked me to move around a few people, reassign them. I didn't know who they were; they were just names in a file. I wasn't a traitor."

"Who are you trying to convince, kid, me or you?" retorted Joe. "But it doesn't matter anymore, does it? This time, you had both eyes open."

"What else could I do? Tribeau was the only one I could go to," she said. "No one else could protect me from the Watcher's Tribunal."

"Whatever gets you through to the day, honey," Joe said sarcastically. 

"I'm doing whatever it takes to stay alive, Dawson," she said sulkily. "And whatever you say isn't going to change that."

"The thought never even crossed my mind – you're too far gone to help," Joe muttered tiredly. "So, let's get this over with, shall we? I believe we're now at the point where you threaten to kill me."

"They'll spare your life if you give them what they want," she said reluctantly.

"And what is that?"

"The Alexandrian files."

"Joe's head shot up. "Huh?" he said. "What the hell are the Alexandrian files'?"

"Don't play games with me, Dawson," the watcher growled, once again grabbing his chin. "We know you have access to them."

"Hey! Lay off the beard, kid," Joe protested, pulling his head away. "I don't have the remotest idea of what you're talking about. I've never even heard of the Alexandrian files."

"I never said you had," his captor said softly. "I just said you had access to them. Wren said that you, and your daughter, were very friendly with a certain ex-watcher. Perhaps his name will ring a bell – Adam Pierson?"

Joe's heart sank. "What about him?"

"Pierson was a very naughty boy when he was with the watchers; apparently, he took some of his work home with him, and never brought it back. Tribeau and Wren were very annoyed when they couldn't find what they were looking for at the motherhouse."

"Wait a minute," Joe said sharply. "Are you saying that Tribeau and Wren still have access to Watcher records?"

"What? Did you think that your little house cleaning, last year, got rid of all Tribeau's cronies? Most of the people you caught didn't even know whom they really worked for. The ones with any real power weren't foolish enough to leave a paper trail."

"No…of course they weren't," Joe said glumly, his mind reeling from the revelation.

"So, the first thing you're going to tell me is who Adam Pierson really is," she said, grabbing him by the hair.

A warning light went off in Joe's head. Why would Wren and Tribeau want to know that? Tribeau already knew Methos' real name, which meant Wren probably did too; what the hell was going on? "As I said before, kid, I ain't telling you squat."

"Well then," she said with a smile. "I'll just have to change your mind, aren't I?" Abruptly, she let go off his hair and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her. A moment later, the light went off.

For the first time since he'd woken up, Joe began to feel afraid.

**Duncan:**

The car was quiet as they drove to the coroner's office. Amanda seemed to be lost in her own thoughts, while Lee was still stinging from Methos' disappearing act. Duncan glanced over his shoulder at the hunched figure on his back seat. He had a pretty good idea where Methos had gone with Amy - and why he hadn't wanted Lee tagging along; Methos had wanted some time alone with Joe's computer.

Sighing, Duncan pulled into the police station's car park. He knew the local gendarmes were suspicious of their presence at the crime scene. He, and Amanda, had gotten into too many scrapes with the Parisian police over the years. It _had_ occurred to him to give a false name, but even a cursory check through his wallet would have called him a liar. Luckily, Lee's name didn't send off any alarm bells, or they might have been arrested on the spot. As it was, they were merely 'helping' the police with their enquiries.

Turning the engine off, he got out of the car, and went around to the other side to open the door for Amanda. With a small smile, she stepped out of the car. "Relax, Duncan," she said softly. "Once we've identified the body, they won't be able to keep us any longer. They've got no evidence, remember? We'll be out of here, and looking for Joe, in no time."

"This is France, Amanda," he murmured back, glancing sideways at the waiting gendarme by the entrance. "They don't need evidence to keep us in custody; all they need is a suspicion."

Amanda put a hand on his arm reassuringly. "It won't come to that," she said gently. "Come on, let's get this over with."

Silently, they followed their escort through a side entrance leading to the coroner's office. The graveyard shift was still on duty, and the hallways were practically deserted. Eventually, the gendarme came to halt outside a large set of double-doors, and pointed brusquely to a wooden bench; apparently, they were supposed to wait.

Impatiently, Duncan sat down as the gendarme disappeared through the swinging doors. With a grimace, Lee took a seat too; Amanda remained standing. Ten minutes later, they were still waiting. 

"I wonder what's taking them so long," Amanda murmured.

"Maybe we should see for ourselves," Duncan said, getting to his feet. "We can't afford to waste time here while Joe is still…"

The doors swung open, and the gendarme reappeared. "The body is now ready to be viewed," he said, in accented, but perfect, English. "Please follow me, Monsieur MacLeod – Mademoiselle Darieux and Monsieur Lee may wait here." Resignedly, Duncan followed him through the doors and down the long, antiseptic, hall.  Eventually, the gendarme stopped and pushed open a door; Duncan went through. 

The room was dimly lit; it seemed as if it was only used for viewings. A single bed was situated in the middle of the room, and a large mirror, possibly a one-way window, covered the far wall. Grimly, Duncan stepped forward and waited for the gendarme to reveal the body's face; they had gone to some trouble to hide Tribeau's decapitation.

Carefully, the gendarme peeled back the cloth from the corpse's face and indicated Duncan should step nearer. The Highlander leaned over the bed and glanced down, doing a double-take as his eyes rested on the face's features. "This is not Tribeau," he said softly, looking up to catch the gendarme's eye.

"Are you sure, Monsieur?" the Gendarme asked worriedly, glancing at the 'mirror'.

"I'm positive," Duncan said firmly. "I don't know who this man is, officer; but he definitely isn't Tribeau.

"Very well, Monsieur MacLeod," the gendarme sighed, leading him to the door. "If you would be so kind as to rejoin your friends in the waiting area; I need to inform my superiors of this new development. I shall join you shortly."

With an abrupt nod, Duncan stalked down the hall. As soon as he pushed open the double-doors, Amanda and Lee jumped to their feet."

"Well? Can we go now? Amanda asked, raising an eyebrow.

"There has been a complication," he said lowly. "The body wasn't Tribeau's"

Amanda frowned, cursing under her breath.  "I don't like the sound of that," she said. "Do you think he double crossed us?

"That was my first thought," Duncan admitted. "But he may have just been taken by surprise by one of Wren's pet immortals."

"And after he took the immortal's head, he decided to get the hell out of dodge," Lee speculated.

That's my opinion, yes," Duncan said.

"Well, either way, we'll find out soon enough," Amanda surmised. "If he was telling us the truth, we won't need to look for him, he'll find us; he's relying on our protection to keep him alive."

"And if he wasn't?" Lee asked quietly. 

The creak of a door broke the conversation, the gendarme had returned, and this time a police inspector accompanied him. "Good day, Mr MacLeod," the inspector said briskly. "My name is Jean Le Blanc; it must be relief to know that our victim wasn't your friend, after all."

"It is a weight off my mind, yes," Duncan said dryly. 

"Well, we won't keep you any longer," the inspector said with a false smile. "You must be exhausted after your trying ordeal."

"Yes, Inspector, we are" Amanda said smoothly. "Will you need to see us again; for a statement, perhaps?

"No, that won't be necessary," the inspector said, waving his hand dismissively. 

"Well, then, good night Inspector," Duncan said, grabbing Amanda's by the hand and steering her towards the exit.

"Oh…one more thing, Mr MacLeod," the inspector called after them. Suppressing a groan, Duncan halted in his tracks and looked over his shoulder. "If you should happen to see Mr Tribeau, tell him we are interested in talking to him; there is still the matter of the dead body in his apartment."

"If I see him, I'll let him know, inspector," Duncan said with a nod, before quickening his pace towards the door. He didn't pause until they reached the car. With a sigh of relief, Duncan relaxed into his seat before he turned on the engine and drove out onto the street.

"Duncan, I want you to drop me off near Tribeau's apartment; the police's forensic team should be finished by now," Amanda murmured.

"I'm not sure if that is a good idea, Amanda," Duncan said.

"We're running out of options, Duncan," she said tiredly. "Joe has been kidnapped, probably by Wren; and our only lead has pulled a vanishing act. If there is even the faintest possibility that Tribeau has left something behind in his apartment which might lead us to Wren's whereabouts, I want to find it."

Duncan frowned thoughtfully. "You've got a point – I'll go with you." 

"No, I think it would be better if I did this alone; I've had a lot more practice at this sort of thing than you - and besides, someone has to tell Adam that Tribeau is alive."

"I can do that by phone, Amanda," Duncan reminded her. "Besides, what if another one of Wren's immortals comes by for a visit?"

"I'm more than capable of defending myself, Duncan," Amanda pointed out. "And I'd be a lot happier if you gave Adam the 'good' news face to face; you know how he can be when he's annoyed. If we don't keep an eye on him, he'll tear Paris apart, house by house, in order to find Tribeau. He is, after all, our only concrete lead to Joe's kidnappers and Adam is rather fond of him." 

"He's not the only one," Duncan said grimly.

"I know that, honey," Amanda said. "But you're a lot less…ruthless…when it comes to getting your own way. Why don't you, and Lee, drive onto the bar, and I'll join you shortly."

Reluctantly, Duncan nodded in agreement as he changed direction and headed towards Tribeau's apartment. They were still a few streets away when Amanda asked to be let out. "The apartment might be under surveillance," she said. "And your car might raise a few eyebrows if it was spotted on the scene again."

She jumped out as Duncan slowed down and, a moment later, she had disappeared into the shadows. "Miss Darieux seems to have many hidden talents," Lee observed

"That's one way of putting it," Duncan said dryly as he pulled away from the kerb and headed towards Joe's. 

The reassuring presence of another immortal washed over him as they parked in the alley beside Joe's bar, and Duncan breathed a sigh of relief; Amanda's earlier words had worried him. Hurriedly, he jumped out of the car and made his way around the back. He rapped on the door and it slowly opened, Amy peeked out. "Oh it's you," she said with relief, opening the door wide. Duncan strode in and raised an eyebrow as he spotted Methos behind the door, sword in hand.

"You can never be too careful," Methos said, shrugging as he stowed his sword in his coat.

"Tribeau isn't dead," Duncan said.

"I know." 

"You do?" Duncan asked, taken back. "How the hell do _you_ know?" he added, looking about the room. "Is he here?"

"No, he isn't," said Methos with a grimace. "Joe's…friend saw him leave the scene after the quickening," he added, nodding at Lee, who had just slipped into the room.

"You talked to him?" Duncan asked.

"Not exactly," Methos said. "He's dead; I listened to his Dictaphone."

"Oh," Duncan said, slumping into a chair. 

"Yeah," Methos echoed. "Oh."

**Amanda:**

Quietly, Amanda snuck into the dark apartment, keeping her penlight pointed at the ground as she skipped through the rubble. The quickening had been a destructive one; the broken windows were now covered with plastic, but the cold, outside air still whistled through the room. Although a gendarme had been posted outside the building, they had forgone posting a guard at the rear, so gaining entrance hadn't been that difficult. The policeman out front did cramp her style, however; a torch light would be noticed from the outside, so she was forced to use the dim penlight.   

Spotting the remains of a desk beside the front window; she shaded the small glow of the penlight with her hand as she crept towards it. A quick search through the desk didn't reveal much, the forensic team had done a thorough job and it was practically bare. The only things left were a deed to the apartment, under a false name, and a notice from the phone company, informing Tribeau that the line was now connected. A slip of paper, stuck under the corner of the desk lamp, caught her eye, and she examined it carefully; it was an address for somewhere in the 17th Arrondissement. She pocketed it as she threw a professional eye around the room; nothing else struck her as interesting. Satisfied that the living room held nothing else of interest, she headed to the bedroom.

She stifled a low whistle as her eyes took in the devastation, she had assumed that Tribeau had taken his challenger's head in the living room; apparently, she had been wrong. No wonder the police had been so eager to talk to her, the room looked as if it had been hit with a small bomb. Shaking her head in defeat, she gave the room a cursory look. She had hoped that the police's forensic team had overlooked the bedroom in favour of the living room; but the room had been examined thoroughly, and she knew she had little chance of finding something they'd missed.

Deciding that she had stayed long enough, Amanda slipped out of the apartment and down the backstairs. She only noticed the soft tread of footsteps once she'd slipped out of the back lane and onto the main street. She slowed her step; sure enough, the footsteps slowed their pace also. "_I'm getting really tired of this,_" she thought irritably as she quickly turned the next corner and ducked into a doorway, pulling out a gun as she did so.

The footsteps stopped, and Amanda smiled, knowing that he was trying to figure out where she had gone. By the time he found out, it would be too late. With slow, hesitating, steps, her stalker grew nearer. A hand holding a gun came into view, and Amanda held her breath as she waited for him to take another step.

She didn't have to wait long; she moved quickly as his body passed the doorway, snatching his gun from his hand as she pressed her's against his head. "Well, well, we meet at last," she purred into his ear as she pocketed his weapon. "Raise your hands - slowly." Glowering, the man raised his hands and Amanda smirked as she saw the tattoo gracing his right wrist. "A watcher, why am I not surprised? Put your wrists together." 

Reluctantly, the watcher obliged, and Amanda pulled out a pair of handcuffs from her pocket. Duncan may tease her about her tendency to carry them about, but even she was surprised how handy they were, sometimes. Once he was handcuffed, she backed him into the doorway and patted down his coat, finding a second gun in his pockets, along with a notebook and a mobile phone. "I'll take these; you won't need them for a while." A cursory glance through the wallet revealed his name. "Pleased to meet you, Mr Masters," she said, flashing him a smile a she rooted out her mobile phone. "Or should I call you John?"

 The watcher snarled in reply, and Amanda waved the gun under his nose reprovingly. "Now, now, that is no way to address a lady. The watcher opened his mouth to reply, but stopped as he caught the stony look in her eyes. Sulkily, he slumped against the shop door. 

Flipping open her mobile, Amanda pressed redial. A moment later, Duncan answered. "Amanda, is something wrong?" he asked, his soft voice sounding worried.

"I've acquired a watcher," she told him. "And he isn't the friendly type. Could you come and collect me. I've got him under control, but I don't fancy escorting a handcuffed man through the streets of Paris, somebody is bound to ask questions.

"I'll be right there," Duncan said. "Where are you?"

Quickly, Amanda gave him the address and hung up. "Now we wait," she told the watcher. "Don't worry, John, the questions will come later."

**Methos:**

Methos stifled a yawn and got to his feet as Amy, once again, went over what she'd learned from the watcher's tape. "Are you sure Tribeau didn't kill your friend," Lee asked softly, leaning forward in his chair. 

"Positive," Amy said. "His last few words described Tribeau leaving the building and getting into his car; then there is a noise and the recording stops. I can't say, categorically, that whoever attacked him in the alley wasn't in league with Tribeau, of course…"

Methos ignored the rest of the conversation; he'd already listened to the tape's contents. Quietly, he walked across the room and stopped at the open door. Duncan, who had left the office a few moments ago to answer a call, was now in the bar and chatting quietly on the phone. Seeing Duncan's worried frown, he tilted his head and strained to hear what he was saying, but the Highlander was speaking too softly. "What's up?" he asked, when Duncan hung up.

"Amanda has caught a watcher following her, she wants me to pick them up," Duncan said, getting to his feet. 

"Hold on a minute, Mac," Methos said quietly, grabbing Duncan's arm as he brushed past. "We have to talk; why don't you give Amy and Tsi Tsung your keys and let them collect Amanda and her watcher.

Duncan cocked his head and gave Methos a level look. "What's going on, Adam?" Methos flicked his eyes in Lee's direction and Duncan sighed. "This better be good," he muttered, pulling his keys out as he headed into the back room.

Rubbing his eyes, Methos made his way to the bar and pulled himself a pint as he waited for Duncan to return. He was already sitting at a table when the Highlander strode into the room once more. "Okay, spit it out," Duncan said brusquely as he pulled out a chair.

"Well…you know how I said I didn't know Wren?"

Duncan nodded.

"It seems I may have spoken too soon."

"Oh really?" Duncan asked cynically, leaning forward in his chair.

"While Amy and I we were waiting for you to return, I pulled up the Wren's file on Joe's computer. I may have not have recognised his aliases, but I did recognised his face; I've met him before – and not under the most pleasant of circumstances."

"Oh no," groaned Duncan. "If you're about to tell me you slaughtered his village, I don't want to hear it."

"Relax, Mac," Methos said dryly. "I had already left the Horsemen when I met Wren."

"Well, I suppose that's something to be grateful for. So….where did you meet him?"

"Alexandria."

Duncan quirked an eyebrow. "Alexandria? This should be interesting, tell me about it," Duncan said.

Methos smiled thinly. "I was planning to."

_  Alexandra, 200 B.C.:_

_Methos had first noticed the other immortal's presence the week before, but he had ignored it. Alexandria attracted many visitors, many from as far away as Rome and Persia; and, like it or not, immortals were also drawn to the bustling city and port._

_Methos had enjoyed living in Alexandria for almost a decade, it was the perfect place for an immortal to hide; Alexandrians were so inured to strange sights and different cultures that his little eccentricities were not commented on. And then, of course, there was the library._

_The library of Alexandria was a treasure trove which almost beggared belief; he had spent nearly ten years roaming its halls, but he was still in awe of it. If he had not seen it with his own eyes, he would not have thought it possible to have all that knowledge in the one place. On more occasions than he could count, he'd lost himself within its walls, voraciously reading all he could get his hands on. It had become a welcome respite from the memories that threatened to crowd his mind._

_He had left Kronos on the shores of the Mediterranean, only a few days out of Athens. For over a millennium, the guise of the horsemen had served Methos well, but the world had changed once again. The Dark Age, which had fallen after the destruction of the Mycenae Empire, was well and truly over. Indeed, it had been over for a number of centuries; the brief time he had been in Athens, three hundred years before, had shown him that. But, he hadn't been willing to accept it then; an immortal was slow to change his ways. And so, when Kronos had sent for him, he'd left Athens to join him._

_Kronos, unfortunately, was still unwilling to let go of the old ways.  What had begun as a survival tactic had become a way of life, Kronos would rather break than bend…Methos sighed, it was best not to think of Kronos; he knew he would have to face him one day…but not yet, he wanted to enjoy the fruits of an uncomplicated life for a little while longer. _

_ At least, it had been an uncomplicated life until his new shadow had arrived in the city, Methos dryly thought as he quickened his pace. He had, at first, thought it was Kronos following him; but as the days went by, he had changed his mind. Kronos would have shown his face long before now, he didn't have the patience for this kind of game. _

_The footsteps grew closer, and Methos ducked through an archway and down a small side street, all the while cursing under his breath at his own stupidity. He had grown complacent in the years since he had left the horsemen; he'd left the confines of the library long after the sun had set and, as a result, the streets were almost deserted. On top of that, he wasn't sufficiently armed for a challenge; all he had upon him was a dagger._

_The steps behind him broke into a run, and Methos shrugged away all attempts at nonchalance as he sprinted down the lane and onto the square that lay beyond it. _

_"Halt!" The voice called out from behind him, and Methos swivelled on his feet, dagger in hand. The other immortal had already drawn his short sword._

_"I don't think so," Methos spat, retreating as the other immortal stepped forward._

_"I come bearing a message," the stranger said warily, his sword still held high. _

_"Is that so?" Methos said snidely, eying his opponent's sword. _

_"I have news from Kronos," the other immortal said eagerly. "He says that he has a new plan – he says that he misses you._

_"I'll bet," muttered Methos under his breath as he studied his surroundings from the corner of his eye. Methos knew what Kronos' version of a plan was, and he, for one, didn't want any part of it. "The other immortal took another, cautious, step forward. Kronos had probably made sure that this young idiot was well versed in Methos' little 'tricks'. So be it, Methos thought grimly, he_ _still have a few left, that Kronos wasn't aware of. _

_"I have passage to Carthage arranged," the new immortal haltingly told him, now unsure of his welcome. "We can leave Alexandria tomorrow."_

_Methos glared at the infant in exasperation; did he not know what had happened between him and Kronos? There was no way in Hades he was getting on that ship. "Sorry, I have other plans," he said mockingly. "Don't worry; I'm sure Kronos will manage to carry on without me."_

_Fear flashed through the other immortals eyes." But you have to come with me…Kronos said so."_

_"Kronos shall have to learn to live with disappointment, then."_

_"Maybe so," the stranger said. "But I shan't – he'll kill me."_

_"Not if you don't go back to him."_

_For a moment, the new immortal wavered, but then his face set into a grim mask. "No, I think it will be best if you come with me. You can either come willingly, or with a sword through your chest…"_

_Methos didn't wait for him to finish his sentence; with a flick of his hand, he threw his dagger. A look of uncomprehending surprise flashed across the immortals face as he fell to his knees. "I'm going to get you for this," he said hoarsely as he clutched at the dagger embedded in his chest. _

_"Not if Kronos gets you first, boy," Methos said softly as he watched the life drain out of him._

Methos looked up from his beer and examined Duncan's face. "I don't know what happened after that," he said quietly. "Maybe he went back to Kronos, maybe he went his own way. I left Alexandra that night; and I didn't return there for nearly a century.

"Why didn't you kill him," Duncan asked, after a moment's silence.

"He was just a kid," Methos said with a shrug. "I didn't consider him a threat, merely a lackey. To be quite honest, I'm surprised he's lasted this long."

"Two thousand years is a long time," Duncan mused. "He could have picked up a lot of nasty tricks since then.

"Tell me about it," Methos replied glumly.

TBC…


	4. Chapter 4

** CHAPTER 4**

**Joe:**

The sound of footsteps echoed in the distance and Joe woke with a start, stiffening in his chair as the light bulb flickered to life. Licking his lips, he swallowed to relieve his dry throat as he heard the bolts slide back.  The door opened with a heavy clang, and Joe snorted derisively as the renegade watcher, from the night before, appeared at the doorway. "Back so soon?" he enquired hoarsely.

 . "Hello, Dawson," she drawled, leaning against the door jamb. "I thought it was time we continued our little chat." Putting her head outside the door, she crooked her finger, and another figure filled the doorway. "I believe you and Halifax have already met," she said as he entered the room, a briefcase clutched under one arm.

Joe's eyes narrowed as he examined the newcomer. "Yeah, I remember him," he said softly as Halifax crouched down and opened the briefcase on the floor, "Him, and his little bottle of chloroform." Halifax ignored him as he rooted around in the suitcase and pulled out a syringe. "Hey – what the hell are you going to do with that?" 

"It's quite simple, really," the female watcher said. "After our last conversation, I realised you were right. Torturing you _would_ be waste of effort, so I decided to take a short cut. I hear that one can get amazing results with the right drugs, especially with sodium pentothal."

"Who the hell are you, lady?" Joe asked disbelievingly, watching as Halifax silently filled the syringe.

"Someone who's learned, the hard way, how to get what she wants, Dawson," she said with a shrug, while Halifax produced a knife and ripped a hole in Joe's shirt sleeve. 

"What _you_ want?"" Joe asked sarcastically. "Don't you work for Tribeau?"

Her lips narrowed into a thin line, but she didn't answer.

"I see…you don't work for Tribeau anymore, do you?" He ventured, watching Halifax from the corner from his eye. "Let me guess, you haven't seen Tribeau in over two months, and once Tribeau disappeared, Wren cut you loose. You were one of Tribeau's creatures, so he couldn't trust you…"

"Shut up, Dawson," she said sharply, nodding at Halifax. Without further ado, he jammed the needle into Joe's arm.

Joe dredged up, from his memory, all that he could remember about the effects of Sodium Pentothal. This was not good, not good at all. He tried to clear his mind of Adam's true name and latched onto the first thing that came to mind. Under his breath he began to sing. "_Since my baby left me…_"

**Amy:**

Rain began to fall once more as dawn rose over Paris, and Amy switched on the wipers and anxiously peered through the windshield. Turning onto the street Amanda had given directions to, she slowed the car to a crawl and breathed a sigh of relief when she eventually spotted Amanda stepping out of a doorway.

Pulling the car to the kerb, Amy waited behind the wheel as Lee jumped out. A scuffle broke out as Amanda's captive realised what was happening, but they soon hauled him out of the doorway and into the backseat, Lee sliding in beside him as Amanda jumped into the passenger seat. "Drive, Amy," she said shortly, before pointing her gun at the cursing bundle in the back "Play nice, John," she murmured softly. "Who knows? If you're cooperative, you might even live through this." A snort came from struggling heap, and Amy eyed Amanda as she shrugged. "Okay, have it your way," the immortal said lightly as she settled into her seat.

Pulling out, Amy glanced into the rear view mirror and frowned as she got her first real glimpse of the watcher, his face seemed familiar…Remembering Amanda had called him John; she risked another look in the mirror and gasped in recognition. "John Masters…is that you?"

"You two know each other?" Amanda asked, raising an eyebrow.

"We were…classmates," Amy said lamely. Lee's presence, and his ignorance about the watcher organisation, was beginning to become problematic. 

"Hmm, isn't that a happy coincidence," drawled Amanda. 

Amy pulled a face. "Not the kind of class reunion I had in mind," she muttered, before raising her voice. "What the hell are you doing here, John?" she asked. "You specialised in academic research, not fieldwork," The watcher grunted in response, but didn't answer. "Fine, be like that," she mumbled, turning her attention to the road.

The car lapsed into an uncomfortable silence, and Amy gave a sigh of relief when she eventually pulled into the lane beside her father's club. Pulling up the collar of her coat, she jumped out of the car and into the rain. 

**Amanda:**

Amanda watched with amusement as Masters did a double take when Duncan opened the door. "_The watcher has obviously read his file_," Amanda thought, with some satisfaction. "_That should be useful_."  "Duncan McLeod, meet John Masters," she chirped, giving him a brief wink. Luckily, Duncan got the hint.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr Masters," he growled threateningly, laying a heavy hand on his shoulder as he pulled him into the office. "Come with me." 

As Duncan led him into the bar, Amanda emptied her pockets and threw the contents onto Joe's desk. "This is all he had on him," she said, turning to Amy and Lee. "Do me a favour, and go through them. I'm going to help Duncan make our guest comfortable…" The sound of shouting came from the bar, and Amanda hastily made her way to the door, only to groan as her eyes took in the scene before her – the watcher cowering in a chair as a very angry Methos towered over him. Silently, she crossed the room and placed a restraining hand on the elder immortal's shoulder. "We won't be able to get many answers if he's unconscious, Adam. Why don't you let me handle this?"

Methos glared at the hand on his shoulder, before raising his eyes to meet hers, and Amanda resisted the urge to step back. The moment passed, however, and the cold, hostile light melted from his eyes as he tilted his head. "Whatever you say, Amanda," he said tiredly, shrugging her hand from his shoulder as he spoke. Turning on his heels, he stalked over to the bar and leaned over the counter, grabbing a bottle of beer. 

Amanda glanced at Duncan, who still hadn't moved from beside the door, and frowned. Something had obviously happened while she'd been at Tribeau's and, judging from Methos's foul mood, it wasn't good news. "_I_ _wish somebody would fill me in on these things_," she thought ruefully, turning her attention to the watcher slouching in the chair. "Well, John, now that you're comfortable, perhaps you could start from the top. Why were you following me?" 

The watcher glared sullenly at her, his lips pressed shut. "Oh, John," she sighed, pulling up a chair and sitting in front of him. "Surely you don't want to do this the hard way? You must know you're going to tell us everything, sooner or later; so you might as well talk while all your limbs are still attached."

The watcher sneered. "I'm not afraid of you," he snarled, jerking forward in his chair.

Amanda gave him a sharp push; throwing him back into the seat. "Perhaps not, John," she said mildly, "But you are afraid of him, aren't you?" she added, nodding at Methos, who watched the proceedings through narrowed eyes from his bar stool. The watcher flinched, and Amanda gave him a small smile as she leaned over and whispered conspiratorially. "Between you and me, John, you don't want to get on Adam's bad side…or should I say, stay on Adam's bad side," she said. "Tell you what; I'll make things easier for you. I'll let the other questions slide, if you tell us where Joe Dawson is."

"Dawson?" the watcher said unsurely. "What has Joe Dawson got to do with anything?"

Hearing the scrape of a stool being pushed back, Amanda looked over her shoulder as Methos got to his feet, and shook her head warningly. Reluctantly, Methos sat down as Amanda faced Masters once more. "Somebody, one of your little friends, John, abducted Joe Dawson last night. We want him returned to us, safe and sound. If that happens, you get to live."

The watcher swallowed nervously as Amanda's words sunk in. "We don't have him," he eventually said, his throat hoarse from fear. 

"Oh _please,_" Methos said snidely, getting to his feet once more. "Enough of this, I'm going to get to the truth if I have to cut it out…"

"_I'm telling you the truth,_" the watcher cried, shrinking back into his seat as Methos crossed the room. "We don't have him… but I can tell you who does."

"Start talking, Masters," Duncan growled, stepping away from the doorway.

"I saw them," he stuttered, "Last night, while I was watching the bar – there were three of them… although, I think the third was a reluctant companion, he had a gun pressed into his back. One of them, a woman, stayed in the car while the other two went to the back door. I don't know what happened inside but they reappeared about a minute later. One of them was dragging Joe to the car, while the other was holding a gun on them both."

"We need names," Methos said lowly.

"I don't know their names," the watcher muttered, "But I did get their license plate number – FPN3421."

"Right, tie him up, Amanda," Methos said grimly, heading for the back room.

Amanda glanced at Duncan, who just shrugged. "I'll find some rope," he volunteered as he followed Methos into the other room, leaving Amanda alone with the watcher.

"You're never going to let me go, are you?" the watcher said softly.

"It depends," Amanda admitted, "If it's any consolation, you're probably a safer with us than with Wren."

"The watcher's head jerked up. "How did you know about…" his eyes widened as he realised what he'd admitted to.

"Lucky guess," Amanda said dryly, getting to her feet as Duncan re-entered the room with a coil of rope in his hands.

A few minutes later, Amanda pronounced herself satisfied with the knots. "That should hold him for a while," she said, looking up at Duncan. "Let's see if Adam has made any progress with the license plate number."

The back office was oppressively quiet when she entered. Amy was pouring over a small note book, biting her lower lip as she read the contents, while Lee was going through the contents of Masters's mobile phone. Hunched in the far corner, glued to Joe's laptop screen, was Methos. Amanda threw a sideways glance at Duncan, who grimaced in return, before walking over to Methos' side. "Find a name yet?" she asked quietly.

"Give me a moment," Methos replied absently. "The French registration records have better protection than I expected…wait…ah, got it; Naomi Jameson, 23 Rue de Vosgues." 

"In the 9th Arrondissement?" Amanda asked

"Yes," Methos said, raising an eyebrow. "Why do you ask?"

Rooting around in her pocket, she eventually pulled out what she was looking for, the scribbled address she'd found at Tribeau's apartment. Wordlessly, she handed it over to Methos.

"Where did you find this?" he asked.

"Tribeau's apartment."

Methos' face darkened as he snapped the laptop closed and stood. "Why am I not surprised?" he asked rhetorically as he headed for the door.

"Going somewhere," Amanda asked archly.

"You need to ask?" he said over his shoulder as he slipped through the door.

"Amy looked up from her note book and frowned. "Where is he going?" she asked.

"He's checking out an address," Amanda said hurriedly as she rushed to door. "Mind the fort."

"I'll go with you…" began Duncan.

"No, you'd better stay here," she said, stopping at the doorway. "Sooner or later, someone will figure out that Masters is missing; and when that happens, they'll come looking."

Duncan gave her a knowing look. "Don't get yourself killed," he said dryly.

"I'll try my best," she said, throwing him a smile before she chased after Methos.

.

**Duncan****: **

"I really wish Pierson would stop disappearing like that," said Tsi Tsung, sighing as he rested the mobile phone on the desk. "It's beginning to get on my nerves."

"You'll get used to it," Duncan said dryly, throwing himself on the couch. "So…did you two find anything of interest in Masters's belongings?"

"Well…I can tell you he's been watching Amanda for two weeks; he followed her to Paris from New York," Amy volunteered. "They are references to other people, but he hasn't written down their full names, only their initials." She glanced down at the notebook. "According to his notes, he's supposed to contact two of his superiors tonight; their initials are P.W. and A.P."

"I have the same problem. I've a list of phone numbers, but no full names" Lee admitted with a shrug.

"Luckily for us, the very person who can give us that information is in the next room," Duncan said, standing up once more.  

"What has he told you so far?" asked Amy, stifling a yawn.

"He gave us a license plate number. Methos hacked into the local vehicle registration bureau and got an address," said Duncan, not going into details. He didn't want to get Amy's hopes up.

"It seems everyone I've met, in the last twenty-four hours, have some very interesting skills," drawled Lee.

"You don't know the half of it," Amy muttered under her breath.

"When was the last time you had any sleep, Amy," Duncan enquired, noticing the dark circles under her eyes.

"Yesterday night," she said, "I should be okay for another few hours, though." 

"Amy, you look dead on your feet," Duncan said softly. "Why don't you crash on the couch for a few hours? You mightn't get the chance to do so later."

Amy looked blearily at the couch. "It does look very inviting," she admitted, "Wake me up when Amanda and Methos get back," A few moments later; she was curled up on the couch.

"I'll go check on our 'guest'," Duncan said quietly. "Perhaps he'll be a bit more forthcoming, now that he's had time to think."

"I'll come with you," whispered Tsi Tsung, casting an eye on the now sleeping watcher.

Nodding, Duncan led the way into the bar and sat on the chair Amanda had vacated.  "Hello again, Masters. I have a few more questions."

"I've already said all I'm going to say, MacLeod," Masters muttered, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "Your lady friend said that if I told you who had Dawson…"

"…That you'll get to live," Duncan finished for him, "Yes, I know. However, she didn't promise to set you free. You're still our prisoner, Masters, and unless you tell us all you know, that won't change." Sighing, Duncan leaned back in his chair. "Listen, Lad, if it's true you weren't involved in Joe's kidnapping, it works in your favour. But the fact still remains; you work for some very unsavoury people. I don't know why you decided to betray your watcher oath, or how you got involved with Wren, but I do know Wren is a very unforgiving master. How do you think he's going to react when he learns we've captured you?"  As the watcher's face clouded over, Duncan slowly stood. "I'm going to give you a few minutes to decide which side you're on, Masters, choose wisely."

The watcher remained silent, but a thoughtful look rested on his face as Duncan went to join Tsi Tsung, who was brewing some coffee behind the bar. "You and I need to talk, MacLeod," he said lowly, placing a second cup on the bar. "I know you've been keeping me in the dark about certain things, but I've let it slide because I know I'm an outsider and trust is a rare thing among our kind." He poured the coffee into the cups as Duncan silently looked on. "I need the truth, MacLeod. What is a 'watchers oath'?"

Duncan winced inwardly. He'd been so anxious to get answers out of Masters; he'd forgotten Tsi Tsung was in the room. "It's a long story, Lee," he said.

"We've got some time to kill," Lee said with a shrug. "Pierson and Ms Darieux probably won't be back for a couple of hours, and our captive would benefit from a couple of hours alone with his own thoughts."

Duncan hesitated; then came to decision. "Well…it all started with Gilgamesh," he sighed. "And a mortal who saw him rise from the dead..." The presence of another immortal impinged on his senses, and Duncan stiffened in his seat. "What now!" he muttered, pulling out his katana as he rose to his feet."

"It could be Pierson," Lee said mildly, reaching into his coat.

"Unlikely," Duncan said. "They haven't been gone long enough. Even if there was nobody at the address, it would still take a while to search the place. You take the front door, I'll take the back…it looks like Amy's nap is going to be short lived."

Silently, Tsi Tsung took his sword out of its sheath and headed for the door as Duncan slipped into the back office. Amy," he whispered, giving the sleeping watcher's shoulder a shake. "Amy, wake up, we've got visitors."

Mumbling, Amy opened her eyes. "wha…"

Putting his finger to his lips, he pointed at the door. "Company," he mouthed. Instantly, Amy came fully awake and rolled to her feet. Duncan pointed at the office doorway and Amy nodded, pulling out her gun  as she ran over to it, Duncan took up position beside the back door. A crash broke the silence, and Duncan cursed as he realised that he'd guessed wrong, they were coming in through the front. A gunshot rang out and Amy ducked her head through the door. Before he could stop her, she started firing into the room. "Lee's down," she shouted as Duncan leapt across the room.

"How many?" he asked. 

"Three, but one is down," she said, ducking out of the doorway as another bullet ricocheted against the door jamb.

"I only sense one immortal, Duncan muttered back. 

"That will be the one with the sword, then," she said, giving him a wry smile. 

"I'm going in," Duncan said, "Cover me." Crouching low, he ran through the doorway and threw himself behind the bar counter as gunshots filled the air. A cry rang out, and Duncan looked over the counter to see the second gunman fall to the ground as the strange immortal closed in on the still dead Lee. Cursing under his breath, he jumped over the counter as the other immortal raised his sword. "You don't want to do that," he said.

"Oh, but I do," the strange immortal said with a lazy smile. "Let me guess, you are the legendary Duncan MacLeod. Well, I'm not after your head today, MacLeod, so why don't you stand back and let me finish what I started."

"I can't let you do that," Duncan said grimly, closing in.

Sighing, the other immortal raised his sword to block the Highlander's blow. "Very well," he muttered. "We'll do this the hard way."

Warily, the circled each other, each keeping their guard up; suddenly, the strange immortal lunged, aiming for the Highlanders chest. Jumping back, Duncan deflected the blow. Another thrust, this time to his stomach, and Duncan stepped to the side and slipped his Katana through his challengers guard, drawing blood as his sword sliced into the immortal's arm.  The battle began in earnest.

In a flurry of moves, the immortal pressed his attack, pushing Duncan across the room. Knowing that if he didn't do something soon, he'd find his back against a wall, Duncan waited for his opening. Once again, the immortal lunged for his chest, and Duncan blocked it. With a twist of the wrist, he pulled the blade out of the immortal's grasp, sending it flying across the room. Cursing, the immortal dived after it, but Duncan's blade was at his neck before his fingers reached the hilt. "If you promise to walk away, I'll let you live," he said softly.

"You know I can't promise that," the other immortal said hoarsely. "It's too late in the game for that."

A stray sound caught Duncan's attention, and he looked up to see the two injured gunmen escape through the front door. With a sigh, Duncan shook his head as he sliced down, closing his eyes as the head hit the floor. "So much killing," he murmured, steeling himself as the quickening engulfed him.

**Methos:**

Methos closed his eyes and pretended to doze as Amanda hummed under her breath at the wheel. The morning traffic had slowed to a crawl, and now they were stuck at a traffic light. 

"Oh Meethos," drawled Amanda. 

"Hmmm?" he mumbled, keeping his eyes closed.

"I know you're not asleep, old man; so stop pretending."

Grumbling under his breath, Methos opened his eyes. "I haven't slept in over a day," he protested, hunching into his coat.

"Be that as it may," she said with a grin. "We're nearly there, so look alive." The light turned green, and Amanda nudged the car forward.

"In this traffic? Hah, in your dreams."

"Oh ye of little faith." She wrenched the wheel sideways and pulled the car into the oncoming traffic.

"Bloody hell!" Methos shouted, his hand shooting out to grab the dashboard as the car veered wildly. "Look out, you fool, that van is going to crash into us!" Amanda ignored him as she swung the car out of the way. The van honked, and Methos slid down in his seat.  "Are you trying to get us killed, Amanda?" he hissed.

"Relax, Methos, I know what I'm doing."

"You could have fooled me; we're on the wrong side of the road!"

"Oh, where is your sense of fun," she said as she sped up the road, ignoring the cars that screeched and honked as they veered out of the way.

"The cops are going to be on our tails in a minute, if you don't come to your senses," he roared. "Get us off this street!"

"Yes sir," she said with a grin as she swerved the car down a side lane.

With a sigh of relief, Methos fell back into his seat. "Why the hell did you do that?" he demanded. 

"Short cut," she said, turning left onto another small street. "And I also wanted to see the look on your face," she added with a mischievous grin. "Oh look, we're here!" 

Methos rolled his eyes as she pulled the car to a stop. Pushing the door open, he slowly got out and looked around. "And where, exactly, is 'here'?" 

This is the lane that runs behind the houses on Rue des Vosgues," she explained, popping the boot before she got out of the car. 

"You seem very familiar with the area," Methos said, raising an enquiring eyebrow.

"I once had to do a little…business around here," she admitted as she retrieved a small backpack from the boot and slammed it shut.

"I see," Methos drawled, shutting the car door.

"Actually, you probably don't," she said brightly. "It was a bit more complicated than that…remind me to tell you about it sometime."

"Oh believe me, I will," Methos said dryly as he followed her down the lane. "So, which one is number…" He stopped mid sentence and looked about as the presence of another immortal washed over him. Looking sideways, he caught Amanda's eye, who pointed wordlessly at the gate a few steps ahead of them.

Methos came to a quick decision. Slipping his hand into his coat, he pulled out his gun and he kicked the gate open.

"So much for a stealthy approach," muttered Amanda over his shoulder.

"Whoever it is already knows we're here," Methos said with a shrug as he strolled into the neglected garden and peered around. "There doesn't appear to be a welcoming party…let's check out the house."

"Shouldn't we have some sort of plan first," Amanda muttered as she followed him up the pathway.

"No time," he replied tersely. "He – or she – is on familiar ground. If can't afford to give the immortal time to think." He tried the backdoor, which turned with a squeak. "Be ready," he said as he slammed the door open and pointed his gun into the hallway. It was empty.

"Well, that's strange," murmured Amanda.   

Raising his hand for silence, Methos cocked his head as he listened to the seemingly empty house. "I hear something," he eventually said as a faint sound reached his ears. "It's coming from below us."

"You do? I don't hear a thing," whispered Amanda. 

"It's very faint." Slowly, he approached a door on the left and put his ear to it. "This is the way down." 

"What does it sound like?"

"I can't be sure but…I think it's somebody singing," he said unsurely.

"Singing?"

"Well…you did ask!"

Amanda threw him a disbelieving look; then sighed. Muttering under her breath, she tested the door. This time, it was locked.

"Can you open it," Methos asked.

"Give me a moment," Pulling out a small wallet from her coat, she selected a couple of lock picks and crouched in front of the lock. A moment later, the lock clicked. "Piece of cake," she said as she pushed the door open. 

Snorting, Methos clicked on the light switch outside the doorway and looked at the steps leading into the basement. "Okay, this is way too easy," he mumbled. "Where are the guns, the mayhem, the homicidal immortal?"

"Do you think it's a trap?" Amanda asked anxiously.

"Probably," Methos admitted. "But if it is, it's way too late to pull out now…we've already sprung it"

"Well…seeing as this was your idea, why don't you go first," Amanda said archly.

"Why, thank you, Amanda," Methos said sarcastically.

"The pleasure is all mine," she said, flashing him a smile. "Down you go…"

"Why am I suddenly getting a sensation of déjà vu?" he asked rhetorically, stepping onto the stairs.

"Look on the bright side; at least it isn't a ladder."

"Or a warehouse," Methos added, a small smile dancing on his lips. "Alright, stay close." 

Silently, he crept down the stairs, pausing as he reached the bottom. The singing was now louder, but he couldn't make out the words. "Do you hear it now?" he asked, looking over his shoulder at Amanda.

"She nodded. "The voice sounds faintly familiar…"

Their eyes locked as they came to the same conclusion. "Joe!"

Quickly, they made their way down the narrow hallway until they came to a door. Methos paused as Amanda put her ear against it and listened. "Nothing," she whispered, pushing it open. Silently, Methos stepped into the doorway, gun raised. The room was bare except for a small pile covered by a blanket in the far corner. Crossing the room, Methos pulled the blanket aside. Underneath, was a pair of prosthetic legs. 

"These are Joe's, if I'm not mistaken," he murmured. "Let's check the next room." Quietly, he slipped into the hall and crept up to the next door. The sound of singing had grown louder, Joe's tenor voice now completely recognisable. Frowning, he examined the door. 

"It seems a bit over the top don't you think?" Amanda whispered, gesturing at the heavy bolts attached to the metal door. "Who were they expecting to lock up in there – Hannibal Lector?" 

"As long as it isn't us, I really don't care," Methos whispered back. "Oh well; nothing ventured, nothing gained." Gently, he slid back the locks and tested the handle, raising an eyebrow as it turned. "Ooh, this way is too easy," he muttered. "Here, hold this." Handing Amanda his gun, he drew his sword and nudged the door ajar. 

The room was dark, but Methos could still make out Joe's face from the hall's light.

"Joe, are you okay?" Methos asked, stepping into the room. A soft murmur came from Joe's lips, but he didn't raise his head.  "I didn't hear that, Joe; you're going to have to speak up," Methos said softly, crouching down in front of the tied up watcher. For a moment, it looked like Joe was about to pass out, but then his eyes opened. "Joe?" Frowning, Methos studied Joe's face. "Amanda, can you see a light switch out there?" In answer, the room lit up and Joe shut his eyes. "Easy there, Joe, I just want to have a look at you," Methos muttered, lifting his eyelid. 

"What's wrong with him," Amanda asked, stepping into the room.

"He's been drugged," Methos answered briefly, eyeing Joe's dilated pupil. 

"How bad is he?"

"Don't know…hey Joe, can you hear me? What's my name, Joe?"

Joe opened one bleary eye. "Oh no, your not getting me that easily," he slurred. "No names…"

Methos rolled his eyes. "Well, whatever they gave him, he's not going to be coherent for a while. Grab his prosthetics while I untie him. We'll sort this out once we've got him out of here."

"Do you think he needs hospital attention?"

Methos checked his pulse. "He needs a bath, a meal, and a good night's sleep," he said briskly as he produced a small knife and cut Joe's bonds. "Not necessarily in that order," he added as he prevented Joe from falling off the chair. "Isn't that right, Joe?"

"_Born free… as free as the wind blows…_" the old bluesman crooned. 

"Oh, this is going to be interesting," Methos grumbled as he heaved Joe over his shoulder.

"You'll live," drawled Amanda, reappearing at the doorway. "Let's go, this place is giving me the creeps…it's too quiet."

"Yes… it is, isn't it?" Methos observed as he followed Amanda down the hall. "I wonder where the immortal has disappeared to."

"Let's just count our blessings and leave, shall we?" Amanda said 

Grimacing, Methos nodded and followed her upstairs. 

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**_ Author's note: Yes, I know it's been a while; but better late than never…right? _**

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**_ Ahem, moving swiftly onward._**

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**_ I'd like to thank all those who've reviewed; I get a great kick out of reading them._**

**_ Sorry about taking so long to update – a combination of RL and writer's block, I'm afraid. _**

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**__**

**CHAPTER 5**

**Duncan:**

Exhausted, Duncan slumped into a chair and closed his eyes. The quickening had been a rough one, draining him of the last of his energy. Ignoring the gasp that signalled Lee's reawakening, he only opened his eyes when he felt a hand drop on his shoulder.

"Duncan…Duncan…are you all right?"

Duncan looked up into Amy's concerned eyes. "I'm fine, Amy, just give me a moment.

Nodding silently, she let her hand drop from his shoulder as she looked across the room. "Masters is dead, you know," she said softly. "Shot in the chest. I didn't even remember he was in the room until the quickening started."

With a groan, Duncan glanced at Masters's body, still tied to the chair. "So did I," he admitted, getting to his feet.

"There was nothing you could have done for him, even if you did remember," Lee said hoarsely as he picked himself up from the floor and examined his clothing. "They took him out with the first bullet – I was just an after thought." Ruefully, he poked a finger through the hole in his bloodstained shirt.

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Duncan muttered, tilting his head towards the dead immortal. "He seemed very keen to take your head. Do you know him?"

"Never seen him before in my life," he replied with a shrug. "Thank you, by the way."

"Don't mention it," Duncan said absently as he hunkered over the body and rifled through his clothes.

"We have to get out of here, you know," Amy observed, eyeing the destroyed bar. "I'm surprised the gendarmes aren't already here."

"She's right," Lee said, closing his coat over the bloodstains. "How long was I out?"

"About ten minutes," Amy said. "Give me moment while I get my father's laptop."

"What about the rest of his files?" Duncan asked as he pulled a wallet out of the corpse's coat and pocketed it.

"Short of torching the office, there is nothing I can do," Amy said. "Don't worry; they won't be able to make sense of them, anyway." With that, she disappeared into the office.

Which reminds me…" Lee drawled.

"Now is not the time, Lee," Duncan interrupted, hearing the distant screech of sirens. "We'll leave through the back."

Startled, Amy looked up from the rucksack she was filling as they ran into the office. "Time to go," Duncan said, grabbing her arm.

"What about the others?" she asked, following him.

"We'll meet them at the barge," Duncan said wearily. "Once they see the police presence out front, it'll be the first place they'll check."

Quickly, they piled into Duncan's car, and Duncan pulled out onto the street just as the first police car turned onto the street. Cursing under his breath, he kept going, letting out his breath as they passed by. He knew he was only delaying the inevitable; sooner or later, the gendarmes were going to knock on his door. The similarities between the devastation in Tribeau's apartment and the carnage in Joe's bar were too obvious to miss.

Luckily, the drive to the barge was uneventful, and the tired trio trooped onto the deck. "Time to catch some sleep, I think," Duncan said as he led then inside. "I've got a camp bed that you can use, Lee; and the bedroom is yours, Amy. I'll take the couch."

With a silent nod, Amy disappeared into the bedroom as Duncan stepped down into the living room, Lee following behind. "It won't take me a moment to set up the bed," Duncan said quietly as he opened a cupboard and pulled out an antique camp bed.

"What's that? A memento from the Boer war?" asked Lee, amusement colouring his voice.

"Actually, it's French, not British; I bought it at an antique fair a few years ago. Don't worry, it's comfortable," Duncan said with a wry smile as he unfolded it. Opening a wooden chest, he retrieved a handful of blankets and a pillow, and handed them to Lee. "Enjoy."

"Don't worry, I will," Lee said tiredly as he eased himself onto the bed. "See you in a few hours."

Duncan threw himself onto the couch in answer, and let his eyes close as he rested his head on a cushion. He didn't think they'd get much sleep, but even a few minutes were better than nothing.

**Amanda:**

Grinning from ear to ear, Amanda held the car door ajar as Methos, cursing and damning under his breath, tried to deposit Joe onto the back seat – things weren't going too well. "Oh, for crying out loud," Methos grumbled as the watcher tried to swat his hands away. "Joe, it's only me; keep still for a moment, will you?"

Unfortunately, in his addled state, Joe wasn't in the mood to oblige. "Leave me alone!" he roared, striking Methos across the head as he tried to pull the seatbelt around him. "Stinkin' traitors…'m not tellin' you anything'."

"Ouch," winced Methos, ducking his head out of the car as he clicked the seatbelt into place. "That hurt!"

"Aw…poor Methos," drawled Amanda mischievously, shutting the car door.

"Remind me to never knock on your door when I'm in need of tea and sympathy," grumbled Methos. "Give me the keys."

"Why?"

"_Because_, Amanda, I'm not in the mood for another joyride at the moment. Now hand them over."

For a moment, Amanda entertained the thought of refusing, but decided against it as she caught the expression on his face. "Oh, very well," she said, pouting as she pulled the keys out of her pocket and dropped them into his waiting hand. Silently, Methos got into the car, started the engine, and tapped his fingers impatiently on the dashboard as he waited for Amanda to jump in.

_"Wise men saaaay, only fools rush in…"_

Repressing the urge to laugh, Amanda turned in her seat to look at Joe as Methos pulled away from the kerb. "How long before the drugs begin to wear off," she murmured out of the side of her mouth.

"It depends on what they gave him," Methos said grimly. "Anything from a few hours to a day; hopefully, he'll just sleep it off."

Amanda eyed the elder immortal warily as she sank back into her seat. "What's up with you?" she asked.

"You have to ask?" Methos said exasperatedly. "Where do I start? Oh yes, _firstly_, there is the little matter of the lunatic who's trying to start the gathering…."

"Besides that…" she said dismissively. "And don't tell me there's nothing else, because I know damned well there is. You've been like a bear with a sore head since I've got back from Tribeau's apartment. At first I thought it was because of Joe's abduction; but as Joe is now safe and sound - and you still look as if you're about to spit bullets - it must be something else. So…spill."

"It's nothing, really," Methos muttered. "I may have been a little hasty when I said I don't know Wren, that's all."

"I see," drawled Amanda, raising an eyebrow. "So…how well do you know him?"

"Not very," he murmured, "Not at all, to be honest; we only crossed paths once."

"Why do I get the feeling it didn't go very well?"

"We had a little difference of opinion," he said tersely.

Amanda looked at him disbelievingly. "I see. Well, now that you've given me the party line, why don't you now tell me the truth?"

"That was the truth."

"But it isn't the whole truth, was it?"

Methos shrugged silently as he kept his eyes on the traffic.

"Methos, you might as well tell me now and get it over with."

"The reason I'm not saying anything is because there is nothing to tell, Amanda. It's just a feeling."

"A feeling? You're going to have to do better than _that,_ Methos."

"The problem, Amanda, is _I can't_. I just…it's just a feeling, okay?"

Realization struck as she saw Methos's frustration. "Oh my, you can't remember, can you? A memory lapse?"

Methos gave a reluctant nod.

"How about your journals?"

"It was over two thousand years ago, Amanda, my journal entries were spotty at best during that period." Gripping the steering wheel tightly as he turned it, Methos fell silent, and Amanda worriedly examined his face, unsure as to whether or not she should press the subject. Eventually, she decided against it, he would talk when he was ready and not a moment sooner.

Sighing, she turned her eyes to the road, noting with surprise that they were almost at Joe's. Methos turned onto the street, and Amanda sat bolt right in the seat as she spied the cavalcade of police cars parked in front of the bar. "Oh no, what now?" she groaned as she spotted the cordon tape.

"Trouble," Methos said through gritted teeth as he passed the police cars and kept on going.

"Aren't we going to stop?" Amanda enquired unsurely.

"No point," Methos said gruffly. "By now, they're either in a police cell or they've gone to ground – my first guess is they're at the barge."

"Methos, the windows were blown out," Amanda said, her mind racing. The damage to the bar had all the hallmarks of a quickening

"I noticed."

**Methos:**

Like a sore tooth, Methos prodded around the edges of his memory, hoping that something would shake loose. The nagging feeling he was missing a large piece of the puzzle had grown over the last day.

Methos glanced at Amanda, who was worriedly chewing her lower lip, out of the corner of his eye, and kept in check the urge to tell her what he intended to do. This was something he had to face alone. Sighing, he tried to keep his mind on their more immediate problems. He wondered if the police knew of the Duncan's friendship with Joe. Luckily, Joe hadn't been present when Duncan had been taken to the police station; and he didn't think a connection had been made between them on any of the other numerous occasions Duncan had run into the Parisian police. So far, so good.

They were still going to pay Duncan a visit, of course. Even if they had enough time to dispose of the body, the similarities between the scene at the bar and Tribeau's apartment were too many to ignore. He shrugged away the possibility the Highlander might be dead; Mac had more lives than a cat.

A low snore reminded him of Joe's presence on the backseat, and he briefly wondered if going to the barge was such a bright idea. The gendarmes may not know of their friendship, but if they found Joe snoring on Mac's couch, they would fill in the blanks pretty quickly. Damn, this was getting complicated.

Frustrated, he tightened his grip on the wheel, his mind jumping from one problem to the next; Wren, Tribeau - and lets not forget the mysterious immortal he had sensed while rescuing Joe. It might have been Wren or Tribeau, of course; but some instinct told him it wasn't. How many players were in this game?

Methos risked another glance at the unusually silent Amanda; she hadn't spoken a word since they had driven past Joe's bar; not a good sign, it usually meant she was plotting something. Remembering the many scrapes she had gotten him into over the years, he grimaced.

"Amanda?"

"Hmm?"

"Whatever harebrained scheme you're hatching at the moment, _don't._"

"Why, Methos, I don't know what you mean."

"You know exactly what I mean, Amanda."

Pouting, Amanda faced him. "We have to do something, Methos! Now that Tribeau's disappeared, we have no leads. All we have is a seeming endless supply of immortals after our heads."

"Nothing new there, then."

"Be serious, Methos! Right now, they have all the advantage. We're just running around like a lot of lost sheep, while they are herding us around like cattle..."

"…and you're mixing your metaphors."

"Stop trying to change the subject. You know, as well as I do that if we don't make a move soon, it may be too late. You said it yourself, this lunatic is trying to start the gathering; if we leave it any longer, it may be too late to stop him."

Sighing, Methos threw her a sidelong look. "Okay, okay, so what exactly do you have in mind?"

"Well…for starters, we could pay a little visit to the local watcher's motherhouse," Amanda suggested, batting her eyes innocently. "They obviously still have a few renegades among their ranks. Maybe a midnight visit might turn something up."

Amanda's plan had merit, Methos privately admitted to himself. Catching one of Amy's old classmates following Amanda proved Wren still had links within the watcher organisation. "Perhaps Amy could give us a few a pointers," he said aloud. "After all, she studied with Masters; she might know who he hung out with, who he trusted."

"A good starting point," Amanda approved. "We'll probably find nothing incriminating in the official files, but we may find something useful if we access their private e-mail accounts and document files, especially if one of them mans a desk; if they're all field agents, it may be a bit more difficult."

"We might have to break into their homes," Methos said, warming up to the idea despite himself.

Amanda smiled triumphantly, sensing victory. "You'll do it, then?" she asked hopefully.

Methos paused. As tempting as Amanda's idea was, he had to keep his priorities straight. "We'll talk it over with Duncan first," he prevaricated, keeping his eyes on the road. We're almost at the barge."

"Oh, very well," Amanda said pensively as the barge came into sight.

**Joe:**

Hands grasped at his arms and, and Joe batted them away as he blearily opened his eyes. Slowly, a face came into focus…a pair of sharp eyes and a distinctive nose. "_Methos…" _he murmured, groaning as his head began to swim.

"Glad to see you're back with us, Joe," Methos said, his voice dry. "Now, could you stop hitting me? We need to get you onto the barge."

"The barge…why are we at the barge?"

"Long story," Methos grunted as he lifted Joe from the car and threw him over his shoulder. Joe's stomach heaved.

"I think I'm going to be sick," he moaned queasily.

"Oh, for crying out loud," Methos complained, "Hold on a minute! We're nearly inside."

"Better make it quick…" His head spinning, Joe closed his eyes as Methos carried him up the gangway. A few moments later, he felt himself being lowered onto a couch. Slowly, he opened his eyes.

"Here, this is for you," Amanda said, placing a plastic basin on his lap.

"Thanks," he murmured. "But I think I'm okay for the moment, the nausea is beginning to pass."

Nodding, Amanda sat down beside him. "How are you," she asked.

"Okay, I suppose; all things considered…where's Amy?"

"She asleep in Duncan's room – do you want me to wake her."

"No…let her get some rest," he murmured tiredly, as he looked around the room. His eyes rested on an empty camp bed, then took in the rest of the room. "Where is everyone else?"

"They're above on deck; do you want to speak with them?"

"I _want_ to close my eyes and sleep for a week," Joe said wryly. "But somehow I don't think that's going to happen. No, I need to ask Adam about something called the Alexandrian Files…"

"The what?"

"My thoughts exactly, could you get his skinny ass down here?" Closing his eyes, he leaned his head against couch's backrest as Amanda disappeared upstairs. Unexpectedly, his stomach growled; how long had been since he'd eaten? Grimacing, he blinked his eyes open, and wondered if his stomach could handle something to eat as he heard footsteps descending the stairs.

Looking up, he saw Methos's wary face examining his as he stepped into the room. "What's this about a file," Methos asked, his voice casual as he sprawled on a chair.

"Something my captor was very eager to get her hands on," Joe said wearily as he shifted on the couch.

"I see…and you're asking me about it because?"

"Because she said _you_ have them!" Joe snapped, "Apparently, you stole them from the Watcher's archives."

"Did she now…" Methos murmured, rising an eyebrow.

"So?"

"So what?"

"So where are they, you idiot!"

"Damned if I know, I don't have them," Methos said promptly.

"Don't give me that…." Joe said disbelievingly.

"It's the truth, Joe."

"Well, she seemed pretty darned sure you had them!"

"And who is she, exactly?" Methos enquired softly.

"That renegade watcher who kidnapped me."

"She's a watcher?" Methos asked, surprised.

"Well…ex-watcher," Joe said grudgingly. "She was one of Tribeau's flunkies. She was brought in front of the Tribunal last year."

"And she's still alive? The tribunal is usually more efficient than that."

"Yeah, well, apparently she made a break for it and ran to Tribeau for protection. Except _now _she's working her own angle - whatever that is - because Wren cut her adrift when Tribeau broke ties with him."

"At least we now know who Naomi Johnson is," Methos mused. "All we have to figure out now is who is her immortal companion."

"Immortal companion?" Joe asked, his ears perking up.

"We felt an immortal nearby when we approached the house you were held in," Amanda explained. "Did you see anyone else?"

"Just the goon with the needle," Joe said, shrugging. "But he didn't strike me as the immortal type. She called him Halifax."

"Doesn't ring a bell," Methos said, "But that's no guarantee."

"No, it isn't," Duncan agreed as he stepped into the room, the others following him.

"Maybe we can find something on the watcher database…oh," Amanda said, casting a sideways look at Lee.

"He already knows, Amanda," Duncan said glumly. "I let it slip while questioning Masters."

Joe grimaced as Lee shifted in his chair. "One could hardly term the little you have told me as 'knowledge'," the immortal said dryly.

"Which reminds me, where is Masters," said Methos, changing the subject.

"Dead," Duncan said tersely.

"Damn," cursed Amanda. "I wanted to squeeze a little more information out of him."

"Who the hell is Masters," Joe asked.

"A renegade watcher who worked for Wren," Duncan said, "Amanda caught him tailing her. It was through him we found you."

"How did he die?" Methos asked.

"We had a few visitors at the bar – an immortal, along with two heavily armed men," Duncan explained, "Masters got caught in the crossfire.

You took his head," Methos surmised.

"You what? At the bar?" Joe asked incredulously.

Duncan winced. "I'm afraid so," he said apologetically.

"Oh, this day just keeps getting better and better," Joe muttered sarcastically. "How the hell am I going to explain that to the cops? At least tell you took care of the bodies?"

"Not exactly," Duncan admitted. "There wasn't enough time."

"Two decapitated heads in one week," Methos mused. "The local gendarmes are going to have a field day."

"Who was he?" Joe asked, his voice heavy.

"Give me a moment, I have his wallet," Duncan said, grabbing his coat off the back of his chair. "Here it is," he said, producing a wallet and opening it. "His driver's license says his name was Tobias Mitchell."

"Probably an alias," Methos murmured, "Can I see?" Silently, Duncan handed the wallet over. "I recognise him," Methos said, after a brief pause. "Jacques de Rousseau, he met his first death during the crusades…strange."

"How so?" asked Amanda.

"He's not the type to involve mortals in his challenges – at least, he wasn't. He was a hunter, but he followed the rules…I wonder what changed."

"Did you bring my laptop with you?" Joe asked of Duncan. "Maybe I can find some answers."

Hesitating, Duncan looked at him worriedly. "Are you sure you want to do that now, Joe?" he asked softly, "Maybe you should get some rest first?"

"I'm positive, Mac!" Joe growled, glaring at the Highlander. "I can sleep later."

"Take it easy, Joe, he's just concerned about you," Methos said softly.

"Sorry," Joe muttered, subsiding. "I'm just tired, and angry, and fed up with not knowing what the hell is going on – are you sure you've never heard of the Alexandrian files, Adam?"

"I think I would remember if I did, Joe" Methos said dryly.

"Are you sure about that?" Amanda countered. "Your memory does tend to have a few blanks in it, after all."

"Yes, I'm sure, Amanda," Methos snapped. "I've only had one memory lapse in the last century - those few days last year."

"Maybe you took them then?" Duncan suggested.

"Highly unlikely, Mac" Methos said, exasperation in his voice. "Just leave it alone."

Sighing, Joe turned to Duncan once more. "My Laptop?" he reminded him. If Methos couldn't tell him about the Alexandrian files, maybe the watcher database could. Getting up, Duncan crossed the room and rifled through a small duffle bag on the sideboard. Pulling out Joe's laptop, he handed it to him. Gratefully, Joe opened it up and tapped in the password. He needed answers.

Jacques de Rousseau's name revealed very little, his file merely repeating the information Methos had given them. Born in the Middle Ages, he had been an active participant in the game but, by and large, played by the rules. He was about to sign off when an addendum at the bottom of the page caught his eye; De Rousseau's had given his watcher the slip over two months ago. De Rousseau could have been up to anything during the last few weeks...

That left only one other person. Pulled up the tribunal records from the previous year, he typed Naomi Johnson's name into the search engine. A few moments later, the computer pulled up the relevant page. Grimacing, he read the list of charges and the sentence….death by firing squad. No wonder she ran. Quickly, he scanned through the page and froze as he read the final paragraph: _"Sentence carried out at 07.00a.m., on September 15, 2003; Pronounced dead at 07.07a.m." _Quickly, he checked the photo attached to the file, just to make sure. "I don't believe this," he muttered. "She's an immortal."

"Who is?" Methos asked laconically, raising an eyebrow.

"Naomi Johnson."

"Nice," drawled Methos.

"_Nice,_ that's all you have to say?"

"Well….at least we now know whom we sensed at the house, when we rescued you," he said with a shrug.

Snapping the laptop shut, Joe threw him a dirty look.

"_What?_" Methos said, his face a picture of bemusement. "What else do want me to say…"

The hairs on the back of Joe's neck rose as Methos sat upright, his eyes flitting to the door. "We've got company," he murmured.

"What…" Amanda asked, before her eyes widened and followed Methos's gaze. Quickly, Duncan and Tsi Tsung stationed themselves behind the door as Methos leapt to his feet and stalked over to the nearest porthole. "I don't see a car, and nobody is on the gangway," he said, peering outside, "Which probably means he's already onboard."

The creaking of a loose plank above proved him correct. Cursing, Joe looked around for his prosthetics. "Great, that's all we need."

Tell me about it," Amanda said as she pulled out her gun and pointed it at the door

A sharp rap on the door broke the tension in the room; challengers usually don't knock. With a sigh, Duncan slid the bolt back and opened the door, jumping back as a hooded figure pushed his way into the room.

"Not another step!" Amanda warned. "Let us see your face."

With trembling hands, the immortal pushed back his hood.

"Oh, bloody hell," Methos muttered, flopping into his chair. "There goes the neighbourhood."

"Nice to see you too, Methos," Tribeau snarled.

"Who, the hell, is he," demanded Tsi Tsung, "And why did he just call you Methos?"

Groaning, Methos got to his feet. "I need some air," he declared, elbowing his way past Tribeau.

"Methos, wait…" Amanda called out after him.

"Later, Amanda," he growled back, slamming the door after him.

**Amy:**

Pushing her head under the pillow, Amy tried to ignore the raised voices in the other room. _"What does a woman have to do to get some sleep around here?"_ she asked herself rhetorically, tossing the pillow aside as it became clear the shouting wasn't about to stop anytime soon. Dragging herself out of the bed, she straightened her rumpled clothes and combed a hand through her hair; slipping on her shoes before she opened the door.

The first thing she noticed, as she entered the living room, was her father sitting on the couch "Dad!" she cried, tumbling down the steps. "How…When?"

"Amanda and Methos found me," he said, pulling her into a hug as she sat on the couch beside him.

"Oh, how touching."

Twisting her neck, Amy's eyes narrowed as they rested on Tribeau. "Why aren't you dead yet?" she said angrily.

"Feeling is mutual, I'm sure," he retorted.

"Keep your snide comments to yourself, Tribeau," Duncan warned. "Or I might forget why I need to keep you alive."

"Speaking of which, I think it's about time you answered a few questions for us," Amanda piped up.

Frowning, Amy looked around the room. "Shouldn't Adam be here?"

"You mean Methos, don't you?" asked Tsi Tsung dryly, smiling humourlessly as Amy's eyes widened in surprise, "He went above for some 'air'."

Sighing, Amy ignored the sarcasm in Tsi Tsung's voice and untangled herself from her father's arms. "I'd better go and get him, then," she murmured.

"You do that," drawled Tribeau.

"Shut up, Tribeau," she said absently, not looking back.

The temperature dropped as she stepped onto the deck and, on top of that, it was raining again. Amy shivered in her blouse as she stepped onto the deck and scanned her surroundings. Where the hell was he? "Methos?" she called out. "Methos, you're needed inside."

No answer.

Frowning, she peeked inside small wheelhouse, biting her lip as she realised it was empty. A knot clenched in her stomach as a horrible thought entered her mind. _"He wouldn't have…not now, not when they needed him."_ But he would, she realised painfully; if he thought there was no other way to survive, he'd do it in a heartbeat…Running to the side of the barge, she searched the quay for his rental.; it was nowhere in sight.

The bastard has done a runner.

Choking back a sob, she slowly turned her back on the quay. It was time to break the news to the others…

**Methos:**

Cursing under his breath, Methos honked his horn at the car in front of him. _"Can't the idiot see the light has changed?"_ His already foul mood took a turn for the worse as the driver rolled down his window and flipped him the finger before edging his car forward.

"About bloody time," he muttered angrily to himself as he turned left, leaving the irate Parisian behind. Anxiously, he checked his watch. It was a four hour round trip, which meant he wouldn't make it back to the barge until tonight. Hopefully, the trip would reveal something worthwhile; something which would prevent the others from chewing his ear off when he made it back.

If he made it back, that is…

Shying away from his thoughts, he put his foot on the accelerator. Sooner done, sooner finished; it was too late to back out now. He sped northward, ignoring the scenery blurring past his window as he concentrated on the road.

Try as he might, though; it was hard not to dwell on his misgivings. This was not the first time he had screwed up enough courage to come this far; this was the fifth…no, the _sixth_ time he'd made this journey; and, on every single one of these occasions, he'd been determined to go through with it…right until the last moment. Each time he'd stood there, something made him turned back. What, he didn't know. But one thing was for certain, time was running out. If he didn't do it now, he'd never do it.

Familiar landmarks passed by as he neared his destination and, spotting the old oak tree he had parked beside the year before, he pulled his car to the side of the road and jumped out.

The rain still hadn't let up; if anything, it had become heavier. Hunching into his coat, he trotted down the road until he reached the small dirt lane that led to the cave. Slowing his pace he picked his way through the muddy puddles.

Eventually, he stumbled through the cave entrance; shuddering slightly as his eyes adjusted to the eerie light in the cavern. Nervously, he glanced at the light's source. The pool didn't actually _glow_, per se; but it did seem to magnify the light in the room – why, he didn't know.

Whatever the cause, the effect always made Methos's skin crawl. He hated anything he couldn't explain.

_"Quit stalling, old man. If you don't do this now, you'll never do it."_

Taking a deep breath, he shrugged off his clothes, no point in getting them wetter than they already were. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, a little voice pointed out he should have brought a towel. He told the little voice to shut up.

Folding the clothes into a neat pile, he crossed his arms protectively over his chest as he reluctantly neared the pool. Looking into its depths, his mind screamed at him to turn back. What if he didn't like what he saw…what if he _did? _What if his memories swamped him, changing him into someone he didn't recognise? Flinching, Methos took a step back from the pool. Maybe he shouldn't do this, after all. There might be another way.

Deep down, though, he knew there wasn't. If the gathering was truly here, he needed to know; he needed to know if somewhere, buried in his memories, there was a way to stop it…

_"Do it **now**, before you lose your nerve."_

Stepping to the edge, Methos jumped in….

TBC…


	6. Chapter 6

_Crawls out from underneath her rock_

_Yes, it's me again…after much procrastination and a lot of rewrites, I've at last_

_finished Chapter six…I hope it was worth the wait! Thanks to all who reviewed_

_the last chapter, by the way._

**Amy: **

Slumping on the couch beside her father, Amy quietly listened as Amanda shouted into her mobile phone. "I swear to god, Methos; if you don't ring me back within the next half an hour, I'll come after your head myself," She railed. "Of all the stupid, dim witted, senile….damn!" Flicking the phone closed, she turned to Duncan. "The idiot has his phone turned off; I'm only getting his answering machine."

"I heard," Duncan dryly answered.

"And even his answering machine is rude," she declared. "Do you know it actually cut me off half way through my sentence?"

"Don't worry, Amanda; I think he'll get the gist of the message!"

"Duncan, honey, don't do that. Sarcasm doesn't become you."

Shrugging, Duncan wisely stayed silent as he brewed up another pot of coffee, Tsi Tsung, however, did not. "If he has truly 'done a runner' as Miss Dawson has suggested, why are you phoning him. Surely you don't expect him to answer?" he asked.

"I expect Methos to be Methos," Amanda said tartly, "Which means he could enjoying a first class meal on a plane fight to Bora Bora, or doing something extremely idiotic - like facing Wren by himself."

"Methos…" Tsi Tsung murmured. "I'm not sure if I will ever get used to that."

Alarm bells went off in Amy's head as Amanda spoke. "You don't think he would do that, do you?" she asked.

Amanda's eyes softened slightly as she turned to look at Amy. "Probably not," she admitted. "For one thing, he would have to know where Wren is…but I don't believe Methos has pulled a disappearing act either – at least, not a _permanent_ one."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Joe asked wearily. "After all, it wouldn't be the first time he's done it." Amy studied her father's face as he fell back into the couch, frowning as she noticed the exhaustion etched around his eyes.

Amanda hesitated before answering. "Because he's angry," she reluctantly said. "And Methos isn't known for being very bright when he's angry…let's face it, Joe; all things considered, disappearing would be a smart move to make right now.

"Gee, Amanda, nice to know you have such faith in us," Joe said, a slight smirk hovering on his lips. "Should I pack my bags now?"

"Just trying to be honest, Joe," Amanda sighed. "Things don't seem to be in our favour at the moment. We need to make a move soon, before the decision is taken out of our hands."

"Then we will," Duncan said quietly.

"But what about Methos," Amy protested, getting to her feet. "We can't just let him…"

"Let him what?" Duncan interrupted dryly, "It's not as if we have any choice in the matter, Amy. He's gone, and we don't have a clue as to where. Not that I would want to. The man is 5,000 years old, for crying out loud, it's not as if he needs a babysitter! No, let Methos worry about Methos, and we'll worry about what _we _can do about Wren. He'll turn up again in his own good time….as usual."

"What about him?" Tsi Tsung piped up, nodding at Tribeau, who was hunched on a chair.

"What about me?" he muttered. "It's not as if I've anywhere else to be."

"And it's not as if you've told us anything which would encourage us to keep you around," countered Duncan.

"Isn't that the truth," Joe muttered.

"And what do you want to know, exactly?" Tribeau asked snidely, leaning back in his chair.

"Well, Wren's home address and telephone number would be a good start," murmured Amanda.

"And some information on the Bitch who kidnapped me," added Joe bitterly.

"So, Tribeau, have you anything useful to say?" Duncan asked, folding his arms as he glared at the immortal. "Because if you don't…"

"You'll what?" the other immortal snarled. "You'll kill me? There's only so many times you can use that threat before it becomes redundant, Highlander."

"Oh, I won't kill you, Tribeau," Duncan said archly. "Quite frankly, you're not worth the time and energy. Besides, it's not as if I need to. All I have to do is show you the door and let Wren do the rest. Tell me; do you think Wren is watching the Barge?"

Silently, Amy looked on, watching Tribeau's reaction. He did not look happy. "Wren owned a house in Montmartre," he eventually mumbled, "But he's probably moved on by now."

"What's the address," Amanda asked briskly, pulling a notepad from her handbag.

"24 Rue de Lavignon," Tribeau said softly.

"And what about her," Joe interjected, "The one who kidnapped me?"

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything."

"That won't take too long," muttered Tribeau sarcastically, "I presume you've figured out that the tribunal execution was her first death?" Seeing Joe's noncommittal shrug, he continued. "She woke up on a morgue slab, put two and two together, and made a beeline to my place in Italy– we'd never met before then."

Amy mulled over Tribeau's revelation, it did explain a lot… "So you were her teacher?" she prompted.

Tribeau laughed, "Hardly, I had more important things to do than coddle a new immortal."

"So, who was?" Duncan asked.

"Nobody, to my knowledge," Tribeau admitted. "Of course, I haven't seen her in a couple of months, so that might've changed."

"So, as far as you know, she's has no training?" asked Duncan, surprise in his voice. Tribeau shook his head in response, and Duncan frowned disapprovingly, "Why the hell not? Even if you weren't willing to teach her, you could have at least passed her onto someone who was."

"Looking for a new student, MacLeod?" drawled Tribeau. "I must say I'm surprised - especially after the fiasco with the last one."

Amy watched Duncan warily as the muscles in the Highlander's jaw tensed. "I'm the one asking the questions, Tribeau," he bit out.

"Have it your way," Tribeau said with an insolent shrug.

"You didn't seem to have a problem using her as your dogsbody," Joe snarled. "Which _reminds_ me, what are the Alexandrian files?"

For the first time since Amy had met Tribeau, the immortal actually seemed lost for words. "How did you…"

"Just tell us what you know, Tribeau," Duncan interrupted.

Slumping into his chair, Tribeau sighed. "I'm not really sure what they are," he admitted. "Just that Wren was keen to get his hands on them."

"Not good enough, Tribeau," Joe muttered angrily. "There's more, I can feel it. Why did you believe Methos had them?"

"He doesn't?" Tribeau asked, surprise showing on his face. "Are you sure? I mean who else would have taken them…" his voice trailed off as understanding dawned. "Williamson," he breathed, "The bastard lied…"

"Who the hell is Williamson," Amy burst out, getting to her feet impatiently.

"Oh, you know him, you just don't know it yet," Tribeau said with a shrug. "A bit of a weasel, but a smart one; he was the one who intercepted Turner last year when he was trying to catch up with Methos and warn him about what he'd found…the Alexandrian files."

"But Williamson caught up with him first, killed him, and took his place," Amanda said softly.

"It was too good an opportunity to pass up," Tribeau admitted.

"But if you knew Turner had the files, why did you say Methos had them?" asked a puzzled Amy.

"Because that's what Williamson told us," Tribeau said tiredly. "He said Methos had the files, and Turner had cottoned on to the fact and chased after him. I should have known he was lying, our other informant had never been wrong before."

"But what _are _they?" Joe asked impatiently. "Why are they so important?"

"Turner smiled uneasily. "Are you really sure you want to know?" he asked, his voice uncharacteristically soft."

"Just stop evading the question and tell us what it is, Tribeau," Duncan said flatly.

"I can only tell you what Wren told me, Highlander," Tribeau said. "And I'm not sure I believe it myself." He wriggled uncomfortably in his chair. "They're supposed to contain a true account of the origins of the game."

"They _what_?" spluttered Joe. "Oh _please_, are you trying to tell me that, mouldering on some shelf in the watcher archives, there was the answer to the one of the oldest mysteries of immortality and nobody knew? That's impossible; all documents and journals are routinely checked every five years. I think someone would have noticed it..."

"Who says they didn't?" Tribeau countered.

"Because if they did, I'd know; we'd all know," Joe said, "A revelation like that would change everything!"

"Yes, it would," Amanda said softly.

A silence descended on the room and Amy exchanged a puzzled look with her father.

"So, how bad is it?" Lee asked, breaking the silence.

"I don't know," Tribeau admitted, "I really don't know…"

**Duncan**

Lost for words, Duncan leaned against the galley's counter and tried to make sense of it all. They were so many questions, so many things they didn't know; where to start? _At the beginning, that's where._ "First things first, we need to check out Wren's old address and see if we can a find a lead."

"And Amy and I shall check out the Motherhouse," Joe piped up. "If those files were stored there, there must be some record of them…in fact, I know just the place; Turner's old files.

"Can't you just look it up on the database?" Amanda asked, gesturing at the laptop.

"No," Amy said, shaking her head, "The database isn't that comprehensive. It keeps a basic profile of all Immortals and watchers but little else – certainly not a list of the more esoteric works Turner may have been working on. No, to find that out, we'll have to follow the paper trail." Joe nodded in agreement.

"Sounds good to me," Lee announced as he got his feet. "Anything is better than sitting here wondering what's going to happen next."

"What about me," Tribeau protested.

"Funny you should say that," Amanda said grimly as she threw open a chest and rummaged inside. "I knew I saw some here somewhere…ah!" Triumphantly, she pulled a length of rope out of the chest. "This will do perfectly." Duncan tried hard not to laugh as she marched purposely to Tribeau's side.

"You're not serious," Tribeau said disbelievingly. "You can't tie me up; I'll be defenceless…what if Wren sends another of his pet immortals."

"Don't worry, I'll make sure you have a proper burial," Amanda said firmly as she pulled his arms behind his back and proceeded to tie the unresisting immortal to the chair.

Shaking his head in amusement, Duncan grabbed his coat from its hook and threw it on as Amanda tied the glowering immortal's feet to the chair. Unbidden, his mind wandered to Methos' whereabouts, his heart sinking as his mind turned over Amy's words. Perhaps she was right; perhaps he had done a runner. But then again, maybe he hadn't. It wouldn't be the first time the old man had gone off, half-cocked, thinking he could solve the problem all by himself. Take that mess with the horsemen…

His mood took a turn for the worse as the memories rose to meet him. Their friendship had very nearly not survived that debacle and, even to this day, it was a sensitive subject between them. Intellectually, he could understand the times were different back then and the Methos he knew now was a very different person to the Methos Cassandra knew in those dark times….but still.

Lost in his thoughts, the sirens didn't permeate his mind until they became too loud to ignore. Frowning, he hurried to a porthole and looked out. "Damn," he murmured, before turning to the others "We've got company," he said, "Quick, Joe, get into the bedroom; if they see you, we'll never hear the end of it – Lee, help me move Tribeau in there too; Amanda, could you…"

Nodding, Amanda shrugged off her coat and ran into the bedroom, coming out a moment later with a bathrobe pulled over her blouse and skirt. "You're down below, throwing on something a little less comfortable to wear," she declared, throwing him a wink and a smile as she mussed her hair and climbed the steps.

"A woman of many talents," murmured Lee appreciatively as he grabbed one side of the chair.

Grabbing the other side, Duncan's eyes met Lee's over Tribeau's head." You don't know the half of it."

"So I've heard."

"Could you two stop gossiping for a moment and watch where you're going," Tribeau butted in as the chair lifted precariously into the air. "I don't know about you, but I despise having my neck broken."

"Had a lot of practice, have you?" Duncan enquired humorously.

"That goes without saying," Lee added, "I've known him scarcely an hour and I already want to wring it!"

Quickly, they manoeuvred the chair through the room and into the bedroom, ignoring the trussed up immortal's curses. Pulling off his coat, Duncan picked a jacket from his wardrobe and transferred his wallet. He suspected he would be facing more than a gentle enquiry this time, and he really didn't want to explain why he was carrying a sword in the lining of his duster.

Throwing a reassuring look in Joe and Amy's direction, Duncan slipped out the bedroom door and closed the door firmly, nodding in satisfaction as he heard the key being turned on the other side; probably Joe. Climbing on deck, he smiled as he noticed the two gendarmes held in thrall by Amanda's endless string of chatter.

"Gentlemen," he called out, watching in amusement as the two policemen reluctantly pried their eyes from Amanda's performance. "I believe you wished to speak to me?"

"Mr MacLeod," one of them said formally, stepping forward. "We need you to accompany us to the station."

"What's this about?" Duncan asked genially. "Has there been a breakthrough in the case?"

"You could say that," the officer prevaricated, "If you would come with us?"

"Of course," Duncan said smoothly as he stepped to Amanda's side.

"Will this take long, officer?" Amanda asked breathlessly, her eyes widening innocently.

"Ah, I don't think so, Mademoiselle," the flustered gendarme muttered.

"Oh, _good_," Amanda said coyly, flashing the gendarme a brilliant smile. "We have…_plans, _you see"

"Yes, I'm sure you do," the gendarme replied, a wistful look on his face.

With a polite cough, Duncan interrupted his reverie. "After you," he said pointedly, gesturing at the gangplank.

"Oh…yes," the gendarme muttered embarrassedly as he turned towards the gangplank; forgetting, in his addled state, that he was supposed to march the suspect to the car, _not_ the other way around. The other gendarme did not forget, however, and pulled his partner to a halt. "Suppressing a laugh, Duncan strolled easily down the gangway, the two gendarmes following closely behind.

Silently, the less flustered gendarme opened the car door and Duncan slid inside, throwing one last glance out the rear window at the solitary figure on the barge's deck; hopefully, she would still be there when he got back.

The policemen were now ensconced in the front and, with a turn of a key, they were on their way. Closing his eyes, Duncan dozed as the car sped through the streets; he might as well catch a few winks…

"_MERDE…"_

Duncan's eyes snapped open, his hands automatically reaching out to steady himself as the car swerved wildly. His eyes widened in alarm as he realised they were on a collision course with a car coming from the other direction. With a violent slam, the police car careened into the oncoming vehicle's bonnet, slamming Duncan into the seat in front of him and flipping the car onto its side.

With a groan, he cradled his head as he tried to stave off unconsciousness and knocked on the glass partition; no answer. Peering through the glass, he noted the slumped bodies and grimaced; then he noticed the smoke rising from the crumpled bonnet. Cursing under his breath, he tried the door; no joy. He was trapped.

It was then he felt the presence of another immortal.

_"Oh, this day is just getting better, and better." _Taking a deep breath he unlocked his seatbelt and put his boot to the door. The door creaked in protest but didn't give. A shadow passed the rear window, and Duncan gave the door another kick. _"We've crashed on a Boulevard in the middle of __Paris__, why isn't someone trying to help us – because I'm sitting in the back of a police car,"_ he answered himself. _"And nobody wants to help someone who might be a dangerous felon." _

With a final, desperate kick, the door finally burst open; letting in the smoke and heat. Coughing, he slid out, feet first, and peered through the haze. Where was he? Cautiously, he crept to the front door, and tried the handle, it didn't budge. Glancing in the window, he noticed the depressed lock button. Taking off his jacket, he wrapped it around his fist and smashed through the window. Quickly, he released the lock and pulled the door open.

Snapping the gendarme's belt open, he dragged him out of his seat and checked his pulse, it was steady. Reaching into the policeman's coat he found his gun before pulling him a safe distance from the car. Without a sword, he needed any edge he could find. Something told him this immortal wasn't friendly.

The heat was getting worse and Duncan's eyes spotted flames licking the edges of the bonnet; one more to go. Hastily, he dove back into the front seat and jerked the seat belt open; hauling the gendarme out by his shoulders, he dumped his unconscious form by his partner.

"Well done, Mr MacLeod, perhaps they'll give you a medal," a voice said from behind. "Did you like my little 'accident'?"

Spinning on his heels, Duncan eyed the immortal, "I don't believe I've had the pleasure," he muttered.

"Jack Newcastle, at your service," the immortal replied, giving him a small, mocking bow. "Shall we get on with it?"

"Have you lost your mind, man?" Duncan asked incredulously, pointing at the crowd gathered at a discreet distance, "We've got witnesses." Newcastle tilted his head to his left, and Duncan's eyes followed; a narrow alley led off the boulevard. "I don't have a sword," Duncan said simply, "And I don't want to fight you."

"But you will," the immortal said softly.

"Maybe; but not now, not today."

""I didn't go to all this bother just to walk away, MacLeod," the immortal said, a dangerous look gleaming in his eyes as he advanced.

Grimly, Duncan raised the gun and pointed.

"What, are you going to shoot me, Macleod?" Newcastle snarled. "I don't think so. Your honour wouldn't allow it."

"Drop the sword, Newcastle, and walk away," Duncan retorted.

"And if I don't?"

"If I have to pick between trying to explain why I shot you and trying to explain the effects of a quickening, I'll choose the former, Newcastle."

"This isn't over, MacLeod," the immortal said, backing away.

"I didn't think it was," Duncan muttered, watching the immortal slip down the alley.

Letting the gun drop to the ground, he pulled his phone out of his trowser pocket and flipped it open. Eyeing the milling crowd warily, he speed dialled Amanda's mobile. "There has been a change of plans," he said grimly as Amanda answered. "It seems I'm on the lamb…"

**Methos:**

Gasping for breath, he clung to the edge of the pool by his fingertips, his forehead pressed against the cold damp stone as memory after memory crowded his mind. There were so many….too many…Gods, what had he done. He had tried many times to imagine this moment, but he had never imagined this; this mad rush of conflicting images and snatched conversations, faces he didn't recognise but somehow knew.

Wincing as a fresh wave of memories washed over him, his knuckles whitened as he held on. The earlier memories were the hardest. His teacher's voice, speaking harshly in a language long dead, the pain and agony of his first quickening…the death of his first wife. But the eeriest of all were the memories from before his first death. Mortality had always been such an elusive concept for Methos, but now…now he remembered everything. As suddenly as it had started, it was over.

_"Huh."_

Then…

_"Oh shit, we're buggered."_

Panicked, he scrambled out of the pool and threw on his clothes, ignoring their dampness as he ran out of the cave. If Wren knew what Methos thought he did then…

_"But that's impossible, the only one left who remembers is…me."_

Methos came to a standstill, his eyes widening as all the pieces fell into place. Kronos, the idiot had actually told Wren – no, that didn't make sense, Kronos was many things, but he wasn't stupid. It must have been something else…

_Alexandria__…_

_Come, Myphistoles, you must meet my daughter."_

_The presence was unbelievably powerful. Whoever she was, she was ancient - and definitely not her old friend's daughter. He wondered what their true relationship was; he also wondered why she seemed so familiar…_

_"But you shan't remember me, Myphistoles," she had murmured as he stepped into the courtyard. "This meeting will fade from your thoughts; it's too soon to know if you have truly changed your ways. You may have left the horsemen, but they are still not far from your thoughts."_

With a start, his mind snapped into the present. Oh Gods, Antiloli, his teacher; the woman he betrayed. To this day, he didn't know why she had let him live. If the circumstances had been reversed, he would have killed her in a heartbeat. But then, he had never truly understood her. Perhaps he never will.

He shuddered as he remembered the ease with which she had stolen his memories…such power. He didn't even know what hithim. One moment he had been in the grasp of his first quickening; the next, he had woken up with a bloodied axe still in his hand and a headless body just a few feet away. She must have been nearby, of course. There was no way she would have left Buras' body unattended. He had been her husband after all.

He remembered his fear as he stumbled away as fast as he could. In vain, he had tried to remember what had happened, but his mind had been a blank. He couldn't remember anything; his name, his immortality, all she'd taught him…all gone.

Two days later, Kronos found him. Methos winced at the memory. He remembered Kronos' frustration and anger as he questioned him. Now he knew why - maybe that's why Kronos had refused to tell him his true name, a petty revenge. It had been a slave, many years later, who had named him Methos. The poor bastard had been unlucky enough to witness his revival after a rather messy argument with Caspian. He had killed the slave, of course; but he had kept the name.

It was another couple of centuries before he realised his earliest memories weren't the only one's he'd lost. At first he'd panicked, but then he found an answer to his problem. He learned to write.

Antiloli had been thorough, not only had she erased his earlier years, she had also made sure his memory would fail the moment he stumbled across something which could possibly trigger those memories…like that fateful meeting in Alexandria.

Wren must have sensed her presence when he had been tailing him, and had doubled back when he had come to. He killed her, took her quickening…not enough to know the whole truth, but enough to suspect…enough to know Methos was the only person left who knew the key. He cringed, already dreading what was to come. He would never hear the end of this.

Richie's face flitted through his thoughts. The kid had been closer to the truth than he had realised when he had speculated on the reasons for the game. Way too close.

_There can only be one…_

Wearily, Methos rubbed his eyes. Shit, what a mess. How on earth would he explain to Joe he had the Alexandrian files in his possession after all? Poor Turner, he might as well have signed his own death warrant when he'd sent him the files. Methos winced as he remembered reading them, then hiding them in one of his favourite stashes before hurrying to Duncan's barge. This time, Antiloli's little curse didn't kick in immediately; maybe its power had faded as he'd aged; it would explain why the memory lapses had lessened over the years. He had made it all the way to Bulgaria before it caught up with him. Groaning, he stumbled down the path; he might as well get this over with.

**Amanda:**

Sighing, Amanda hung up on Duncan. They needed to leave the barge – fast. Biting her lip, she came to decision. Ignoring Joe's expectant expression, she punched a number into her phone and smiled as a familiar voice answered.

_"Salut?"___

"Gina, darling," Amanda purred. "How are things?"

Gina's sigh was audible. "_What's happened, Amanda_?"

"It's a long story, I'll explain it all when we get there," Amanda replied lightly.

_"We?"___

"Oh yes, I'm bringing a few friends with me. I hope you don't mind…it's kind of important."

_"I see…does this, by any chance, have anything to do with that little incident in Russia."_

"It has everything to do with it," Amanda drawled.

_"Right, I'll see you in a few hours,"_ Gina said, her voice grim.

"Thanks, Gina," Amanda murmured gratefully as she signed off.

"What's up?" Joe asked, his exhaustion evident in his voice.

Bleakly, Amanda filled him in.

"Let me get this straight," Lees interjected disbelievingly. "An immortal forced a police car off the road in broad daylight, and then challenged Macleod in the middle of a busy Parisian thoroughfare?"

"Now, I've heard everything," Joe muttered.

"Who's Jack Newcastle?" Amy asked.

"Give me a moment, I'll look him up," Joe said, picking up his laptop.

"It can wait, Joe," Amanda said softly, getting to her feet. "We need to leave. Once the local police get their act together, this will be their first port of call - and I really don't want to waste our precious time helping the gendarmes with their enquiries."

"That's why you called Gina," Amy realised.

Amanda nodded. "The police won't know her address."

"But what about Duncan and Methos?" Amy protested.

"I'll phone Duncan on the way, and leave a message on Methos's phone," Amanda said with a shrug. "Now, everyone grab a few things. I don't think we have much time."

They were all worse for wear, Amanda observed as they raggedly threw a few things together, especially Joe. Not that he'd complain, the man was a veritable poster boy for stubbornness. Catching Amy's eye, she gave her an encouraging nod before she untied Tribeau and prodded him towards the door.

They had just stepped out onto the quay when Amanda saw their first problem. With Methos gone, they were one car short. "Blast," she grumbled, turning to Lee. "You're going to have to go ahead without me," she said, tossing him the keys. "Joe knows the way"

"What about you?" Joe asked worriedly.

"I'll catch up," Amanda promised.

""I don't think travelling by one's self is a good idea at the moment," Lee observed. "The city is crawling with immortals.

"I'll manage," Amanda said. "Besides, I want to meet up with Duncan before I follow you to Robert and Gina's."

Looking unconvinced, Lee shrugged as he opened the back door, letting Joe push Tribeau into the car. "Whatever you say, Amanda," he murmured. "Just watch your head."

Flashing him an easy smile, she popped the boot and threw her overnight case in. She still wasn't sure about Tsi Tsung. Joe had given him a clean bill of health, but she still wondered about his motives. He seemed a little bit too eager to help for her liking. She resolved to have a chat with Methos when…if she saw him. "Oh, don't worry about me," she said lightly. "I don't have any intention of becoming a target."

"Tell Duncan I'll do a little more rooting around in the database, maybe I'll come up with a few leads," muttered Joe as he lowered himself into the back beside Tribeau.

"I will Joe," Amanda said, her smile genuine this time.

"Are you sure you're going to be okay?" asked Amy worriedly as she hovered by the passenger door.

"I'm sure, Amy, now _scoot!_" Shooing Amy into the car, she stepped back as Lee started the engine and drove away. Sighing, she broke into a brisk walk and pulled out her mobile. Punching in Duncan's number, she waited anxiously for him to pick up.

_"Amanda?"_

"Duncan," she sighed in relief, "Where are you?"

"_Do you remember_ _the little café around the corner from Methos' old place?"_

"Yes - do you think it's safe?"

"_Well, the police haven't stormed through the door yet,_" Duncan joked. "_Though that might change…"_

"Stay there, I'll be there in fifteen minutes," Amanda promised as she raised her hand to hail a taxi.

"_I'll be waiting…_"

**Joe:**

Reluctantly, Joe opened his eyes as the car came to halt. Exhaustion was getting the better of him, and sleep didn't seem to be on the horizon. "Are we there?" he asked tiredly, peering out the window.

"So it would seem," Lee muttered, his eyes widening suddenly. "I'll let you ring the door bell, shall I? It's usually a bad idea for an immortal to call on another uninvited; they seem to take it the wrong way."

"I'll go with you," Amy said promptly.

Nodding abruptly, Joe swung the door open and let Amy help him to his feet. He wasn't about to collapse yet, but he didn't want to argue with his daughter, she looked worried enough. Letting her help him up the steps was another thing, however. "I'll manage, Amy," he said irritably as she tried to guide him by the elbow, "Thanks." Ignoring the wounded look on her face, he tackled the steps and raised his hand to ring the bell.

"_Chérie!_" The door opened without warning, revealing a beaming Gina. "It is good to see you – come in!" looking over his shoulder, she frowned. "Where's Amanda?"

"She'll be here in a while," Amy explained. "She wanted to meet up with Duncan first."

"Then who did I sense…" Frowning, Gina glared suspiciously at the car.

"His name is Tsi Tsung Lee, he came from London with Methos," Joe said hurriedly. "He's helping us with our little problem."

"I see," drawled Gina. "And who is that in the back seat?"

"Oh, that's Tribeau…"

"Tribeau, what the hell is he doing with you?" hissed Gina, her eyes darkening dangerously.

Joe sighed. He liked Amanda, but she had an awful habit of springing surprises on her friends. "He's helping us with our enquiries," he said shortly. "And before you say it; no, I don't like it either. But he has information we need so…"

"No, don't say it," Gina muttered. "Bring them inside."

Trotting down the steps, Amy tapped on the Lee's window before opening the back door and leading Tribeau up the steps. Lee followed a few steps behind, carrying the luggage. Stepping back from the door, Gina glared as Tribeau stepped into the hall. "At least Amanda had enough sense to tie your hands," she muttered.

Seeing the smirk on Tribeau's face, Joe decided to intervene. "Where shall we put him?" he growled, throwing Tribeau a dirty look.

"The cellar," said Gina promptly, giving Lee an abrupt nod as he crossed the threshold. "Follow me."

"Where's Robert?" asked Amy as they followed her through the main hall.

"He's in the City," Gina replied absently, coming to a halt at the top of a flight of stairs. "He'll be back in a few hours. Joe, why don't you and Amy wait here, I think Lee and I can manage. We'll be back in a few minutes."

Joe threw her a knowing look. Apparently his reassurances weren't enough; Gina wanted a few private words with her immortal guest. Throwing Lee a sideways glance, he caught the wry smile on his face. He didn't look happy, but he didn't worried either. With a mental shrug, he decided to let them work it out for themselves. He was too tired to mediate. "Sure, do you mind if we wait in the drawing room?"

"But of course not, chérie," Gina said. "I'll make us something to eat once I've taken care of this. I gave the help the rest of the day off after Amanda phoned me…just in case."

Making his way into the drawing room, Joe fell into an armchair and pulled his laptop onto his lap as Amy tracked down a phone line. Gina and Lee had still not returned by the time he had booted up. First things first, Jack Newcastle; quickly, he scanned the file. It didn't look good. "Man, this guy is a real piece of work…" he muttered disgustedly, as he read the more recent reports. They stopped abruptly six weeks before; more proof they still had a traitor within the ranks.

Amy read the screen over his shoulder and shuddered. "We'll have to watch our backs with this one," she said, groaning.

"Tell me about it," Joe replied.

"What's wrong?" Joe looked up to see Gina in the doorway, a tray in her hands.

"Duncan was challenged this afternoon," Joe explained. "The guy's file does not make easy reading."

"Yes, Lee filled me in downstairs," Gina murmured as she laid the tray on the coffee table.

"Did he tell you everything?" Joe enquired.

"Yes, I did," Lee said as he entered the room carrying another tray. "Is that okay?"

"Yeah," Joe replied, "Gina already knows what happened last year – she was there."

"So she told me," Lee said, placing the tray beside Gina's. "What did you find out about Newcastle?"

"A petty thief who worked his way up to murder and met his first death on the Gallows in London in the sixteen hundreds; it goes downhill from there," Joe said. "He's a hunter who doesn't follow the rules. His favourite trick is to attack an immortal through their loved ones. You know the kind of thing; 'your head or your wife's life'.

"He sounds charming," Gina drawled.

"Oh yeah, the life and soul of the party," Joe said glumly. "Listen, I was thinking; maybe we should go to the motherhouse now."

"Shouldn't you wait until Duncan and Amanda get here?" Gina asked gently.

"It's a watcher motherhouse, Gina, and Mac and Amanda have _way_ too high a profile in Paris – as do you," he added hastily, seeing her expression.

"What about me?" Lee enquired, "Would they recognise me?"

"Oui, c'est un bon idée," Gina piped up excitably, "Lee shall go with you!"

"Um, Gina, I'm not so sure about this," Joe said warily.

"Please, Joe, I'd feel so much better if there was another immortal with you. What if somebody tries to kidnap you again?"

Seeing the look on her face, Joe gave in. "Okay, okay, Lee can come with us," he muttered tiredly. "But we need to leave soon…"

"Have something to eat first," Gina suggested, gesturing at the sandwich laden trays.

Joe resisted the urge to roll his eyes and picked a sandwich off the tray as he stood. "I'll eat it on the way," he promised. "Now, let's _go_."

**Methos:**

Methos slowed the car to a crawl as he pulled onto the quays. Why the hell were they three squad cars parked outside Duncan's barge? Grimly, he kept on driving and turned onto a small lane. Parking his rental, he hopped out and retraced his route on foot; time to play the part of the innocent bystander and find out what's happening. Of course, he could just turn his phone on and ring one of the others; but he really wanted to avoid that conversation until he could see their faces.

Casually, he ambled past the barge, his face a picture of curiosity as he came to a slow halt a few meters away. The barge was crawling with police…and one had stepped onto the gangway. "Move along," the police man said pointedly, "Nothing to see here."

Flashing the policeman a look of puzzled disbelief he took a step forward, hands deep in his pockets. "Seems an awful lot of policemen for nothing," he observed, giving the policeman a toothy smile, "Was somebody attacked?"

"None of your business, Monsieur," the policeman barked, stepping onto the quay, "Now, move along before I have you arrested for loitering!"

Methos backed up and plastered a suitably contrite expression on his face, "Sorry to have bothered you, just curious. "

"No harm done," the policeman muttered, slightly mollified, "On your way…"

Methos went through the possibilities as he stepped away from the Barge: They'd discovered Tribeau was hiding out on the barge…hmm, unlikely. Perhaps they'd made a connection between Joe and Duncan. Or maybe it's just a fishing expedition…

"_Where _is_ everyone, then? And why are the police going over the barge with a fine tooth comb_," said the persistent little voice in his head.

Cursing under his breath, Methos redoubled his step. Taking out his mobile as soon as he turned the corner, he turned it on and checked his messages, wincing as he heard Amanda's angry voice. Distractedly, he rooted around in his pocket for his keys as he listened to the second message. Bloody hell, no wonder the police were sitting on top of the barge. Pulling his keys out, he turned off his car's alarm and pocketed his mobile.

His key was in the lock when the presence of the other immortal washed over his senses.

"Hello Methos, it's been a while."

Methos turned slowly and groaned inwardly. The clothes were different, his appearance groomed, but it was definitely him. "Well hello again," he drawled, "I don't believe I caught your name last time we met…"

"The name I'm using at the moment will suffice," the immortal said confidently. "You do know what it is, don't you? I'm sure Tribeau has been a mine of information."

"Not as much as we would have liked," Methos muttered.

"But you know why I'm here?"

"Oh yes," Methos murmured. "But I don't think this is the place to discuss it, Wren."

"What do you suggest; that I make an appointment with your secretary? I'm not as naïve as I was, Methos." Wren said coldly.

Methos smiled reluctantly. "Pity," he said, crossing his arms. "It would have made things simpler. So…shall we move straight to the chopping off of heads?"

"Now why would I do that when you're worth so much more to me alive?"

Methos' sense of self preservation kicked in, Wren seemed way too confident. What was he not seeing? "Sorry, no can do, I'm afraid," he said sarcastically as he reached into his coat. Taking a step back, Wren mirrored his actions and revealed the hilt of his sword. Quickly, Methos scanned the lane for witnesses; none were about, but still… "How about we move this further down the lane," he suggested quietly.

"But of course," Wren answered easily, "After you…"

Methos rolled his eyes. "I don't think so. Trust issues, you know…"

Warily, Methos strolled down the lane, making sure Wren stayed abreast. He couldn't shake off the feeling he was missing something. Wren seemed too relaxed for someone who had just issued a challenge. Either he was even crazier than he'd thought – a feat extraordinary in itself – or Wren knew something he didn't.

His paranoia told him it was the latter.

Backing away, he quickly slid his sword out of its scabbard and circled him; his sword poised to attack. "You couldn't leave it alone, could you?" he muttered, anger creeping into his voice. "Damn it, man; you know what's at stake."

"Oh please," Wren snorted. "Kronos told me everything… eventually. Tell me, how did you feel when you realised you were the only one left who knew the truth? Were you laughing at us as we stumbled through the game? Well, now you're not the only one…and I'm going to collect."

"Don't you get it, Wren?" Methos hissed. "This was never about power…it's about survival. Why else do you think Kronos never tried it? Its suicide – and not even Kronos was that crazy."

"Lies, all lies. If it was that dangerous, she would have sealed it," Wren scoffed. "She had the power; I could feel it in her quickening. She could have sealed it and stopped the game; but she didn't. She wanted the power all to herself."

Methos continued to circle him, waiting for his opening. He had already suspected Wren didn't have all the facts; now, he knew. "Wren," he said softly. "You do realise there is no prize, don't you? There was a reason why she wanted the secret to die with her, it was never meant to be; it's a freak of nature, just like us."

"Oh yes, Methos," Wren said mockingly. "I know, but it won't matter once I find the source. If there is one thing Kronos taught me, it was how to cheat."

A cold chill went down Methos' spine as he saw the gleam in Wren's eye. There was no doubt about it, he was truly insane. A deep certainty settled within Methos' mind. Wren had to die.

Now.

He lunged, his sword clashing with Wren's blade as the immortal parried. Wren was good; he'd had the last two thousand years to practice…practise a _lot._ Gritting his teeth, Methos whittled away at Wren's defences as he looked for a weak spot. There was none, this fight would be won or lost on stamina, on who would tire first – and who most wanted to live.

The pace was blindingly fast as Methos tried every trick that came to mind. Unfortunately, Kronos had taught Wren well, and he was well versed in Methos' style. Well, he had learnt a few tricks since then…

Too late Methos felt the surge of the other quickening; too late did Methos remember the smug look on Wren's face. Kronos' first lesson – always make sure the odds were in your favour.

The bullet entered through his spine, piercing his heart. "_Good shot_," Methos thought numbly as his feet buckled. "_I won't be waking up from this in a hurry. If I…"_

TBC…


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: Warning! Strange convoluted theories, which pretend to explain the origins of immortality, appear in this chapter. These theories are just the strange delusions of my own mind and are not, in any conceivable way, backed up by canon – so if you vehemently disagree with my theories, you can comfort yourself with this fact! **

**Seriously, though, thanks for all the encouraging reviews - and for those who despaired of my long hiatuses between updates, I hope this cheers you up!**

**Duncan:**

Duncan stirred his coffee absently as he leaned back in his seat, keeping one ear on the news broadcasting on the radio. The café was already abuzz with the news of his 'daring' escape. It was a good thing the café owner didn't have a television in the corner, the verbal description given was too vague for immediate recognition. Ruefully, he realised the news made no mention of Newcastle's presence; or of Duncan's hand in rescuing the policemen from the wreckage.

The café door swung open and Duncan looked up, smiling as Amanda walked in. "Did you have any trouble getting here?" he asked as she sat down beside him.

"A blissfully trouble free trip, thankfully," Amanda murmured. "How are you?" she added, gently placing her hand over his.

"I'm fine, Amanda," he answered softly, taking her hand in his as he saw the concern in her eyes, "How about the others?"

"They should be at the De Valicourts by now," she said, catching the waitress's eye.

"And Methos?"

"Still no word, I'm afraid."

"Duncan sighed. "You know…Amy might be right," he muttered. "As you said, it would be the smart thing to do."

"No, I think there's more to it than that," Amanda said mysteriously.

"What do you mean?" Duncan asked, surprised. "Is there something you haven't told me?"

"Just a hunch," she murmured with a shrug. "Ah, here comes the waitress."

Silently, Duncan studied Amanda's face as she ordered her coffee. He had always wondered about Amanda's relationship with Methos, an unlikely mixture of friendship and distrust. He had long ago figured out they had known each other long before he had introduced them, though they had both remained uncharacteristically silent about the matter…well, it was uncharacteristic for Amanda. Prying information out of Methos was like getting blood from a stone.

For a while he had thought it was because they might have been lovers at some point, but he then dismissed that. Not the possibility they had been lovers, but the possibility it was the reason for their reticence; Amanda and he had always been very open about such things.

Well, he supposed she would tell him when she was ready to…

"A penny for you thoughts," Amanda said as the waitress drifted onto the next table.

"Oh, there not worth that much," he said with a small smile, "A farthing, at the most."

"I see," Amanda drawled.

Duncan decided to change the subject. "You realise we're not too far away from the address Tribeau gave us for Wren?" he asked.

"It has occurred to me," Amanda admitted, smiling at the waitress as she laid her coffee on the table. "I also realised that the address wasn't too far away from Tribeau's apartment. Rather strange, don't you think? I mean, there is Tribeau, supposedly running for his life, deciding to take up residence a mere two streets away from Wren's house. I don't know about you, but I smell a rat."

Duncan groaned. "I don't believe I didn't spot that," he muttered. "Do you think he's trying to double cross us?"

"I don't know," Amanda admitted with a sigh. "But something tells me we aren't in possession of the full facts."

Duncan nodded in agreement. "You know that means it could be a trap?"

"It isn't a trap if we already suspect it is," Amanda replied with a knowing grin.

"No, I suppose not," Duncan answered with a small grin of his own. "So, how about it; Do you want to take a small detour on the way to the De Valicourts?"

"I don't see why not," Amanda murmured conspiratorially. "I mean, what's the worse thing that could happen?"

Duncan winced. "I wish you hadn't said that," he said, "It never turns out well."

"Oh, don't be such a pessimist," Amanda teased. "I hear enough of that from Methos."

"Raising an eyebrow in reply, Duncan took out his wallet and threw a few euros on the table. "Let's go," he muttered. "Before I come to my senses and change my mind!"

It didn't take them long to find the house, a surprisingly discreet affair considering the little he knew about Wren. He had expected something more ostentatious. Cautiously, they approached the front door, on the alert for the presence of another immortal. The house seemed to be deserted, however. Silently, Amanda produced her lock picks, and Duncan stood guard as she went to work. It was a matter of moments before she made a little sound of triumph. Taking a few moments more to check if the door was rigged to any form of security system, she eventually pronounced it was safe to enter.

"How shall we do this?" Amanda asked as they entered the hallway.

"I'll take the ground floor, you take upstairs," he murmured. "If they are any hidey holes, they're probably up there, and you were always better at finding them."

"Kind of you to say so," she said as she trotted upstairs, leaving Duncan to search the ground floor.

Shaking his head in amusement, Duncan tried the door to the left and found the study. With mixed feelings, he noted the laptop on the desk. On the one hand, it was a brilliant stroke of luck; if Wren kept any records of his activities, it was the likeliest place to find them. On the other hand, however; a laptop was a funny thing to leave behind in a house one was supposed to have abandoned. Wren was probably still in residence.

Quickly, he sat at the desk and booted the laptop up. It was password protected. Cursing under his breath, he shut it down and unplugged it. He didn't have time to try his hand at hacking. If Wren still lived here, he could come home any moment and, from what he knew of him, he mightn't be alone. Hurriedly, he searched the desktop but only found an opened statement from his telephone company. The postmark on the envelope confirmed his suspicions, however; it had been mailed on Monday.

Next, he checked the drawers, and came up trumps when he found a small address book. Shrugging his shoulders, he pocketed it. As he was already giving away their presence by taking the laptop, he didn't see the harm in it. Moving onto the bookshelves, he looked for any likely hidden compartments but nothing caught his attention. Grabbing the laptop, he left the study and climbed the stairs. "Amanda?" he called out softly.

"I'm in here," was the muffled reply, "Second door to your right." Duncan entered the room and found Amanda with her ear to a safe on the wall. "You know," Amanda said conversationally as she fiddled with the combination lock, "They really make this too easy, even a five year old child knows that a thief always checks behind the painting first."

Smiling, Duncan glanced at the painting leaning against the bed. It was a rather bad copy of a Renoir. "Tribeau has better taste," he observed.

"Are you kidding? _Methos_ has better taste – and that's saying something," Amanda grumbled as the safe door clicked open.

Duncan grinned, remembering the time he'd gone through the old man's music collection. "Oh, I don't know about that…what have you found?"

"Trouble," Amanda said grimly as she carefully took an old leather-bound book out of the safe.

"Is that what I think it is?" Duncan asked, quickly crossing the room.

"Yes," Amanda said abruptly. Mutely they looked at the name printed on the old, worn cover of the chronicle; it was Rebecca's. "The bastard," Amanda said hoarsely, "The unconscionable bastard."

Duncan glanced at the rest of the contents of the sake and groaned. Chronicle upon chronicle were stacked inside. Gently, he took another one out. It was Ramirez's; he had never met Conor's teacher, he had died before was born, but Conor had plied him many stories over the years. One by one, he took the chronicles out of the safe. It was quite a collection; a mixture of immortals both alive and dead, along with some he didn't recognise.

_"Darius, Constantine, Kronos, Cassandra, Althea, Amanda, Lee, Borus, Methos...me."_

With a grunt of disgust, Duncan gave up reading the names and emptied the safe. "We're taking them with us," he said coldly.

"I saw a suitcase in the other room, I'll go get it," Amanda said, carefully placing Rebecca's chronicle on the bed. Quickly, she flitted out of the room, returning a few moments later. "I wish I knew why," she murmured softly as she unzipped the suitcase. "I mean, I know what Tribeau said, but it doesn't explain this…this invasion of privacy. I feel like we've been caught up in some sick game - and I don't know the rules."

"I know how you feel," Duncan admitted with a sigh as he filled the suitcase. "Don't worry, we'll figure it out."

"I hope so," Amanda sighed. "Sometimes I feel so tired…"

Seeing the distraught look on her face, Duncan gently pulled her into a hug. "It's going to be okay, Amanda," he murmured into her hair. "We'll get through this…we always do."

With a soft laugh, Amanda looked up into his face and gave him a tremulous smile. "I want to believe that, Duncan, I really do; but I've a bad feeling about this."

Duncan gave her a wry smile as he closed over the suitcase and zipped it. "Maybe these will give us some answers," he suggested.

"Perhaps," Amanda sighed as she picked up the laptop Duncan had on the bed. "You found this downstairs?

"U-huh," Duncan said, heaving the suitcase off the bed. "It was open on the desk in his study. The blasted thing is password protected, though; so I thought I should bring it along."

"Do you get the feeling Tribeau has been a little economical with the truth?" Amanda asked rhetorically.

"The thought has occurred to me," Duncan muttered. "He and I are going to have a long chat when we get to the De Valicourts."

They had just made it onto the landing when Duncan felt the other immortal's presence hit him. "We've got company," he said grimly, dropping the suitcase as he felt for his sword. It wasn't there.

"A lot of company," Amanda amended as another immortal's presence made itself known, "Here have mine, I still have my gun." Unsheathing her sword, she handed it to Duncan. Its weight was lighter than he was used to but it would have to do. He cautiously descended the stairs, just reaching the bottom step when he felt a third immortal. "Duncan," Amanda hissed as she followed him downstairs with the suitcase. "They're too many, we might be able to manage two, but three…"

Duncan nodded grimly. "Out the back?" he suggested. Amanda nodded in agreement. Quickly, they ran to the back door, coming to an abrupt halt when they heard the sound of a key in the door's lock. Wordlessly, Duncan pulled Amanda through the nearest hall door and found himself in the kitchen. Quietly, they listened as the immortal opened the door.

"Wren?" a voice called out. "Are you in the study?"

Duncan tensed as he recognised the voice. It was that idiot, Newcastle. "I don't believe this," he muttered under his breath." Amanda threw him a puzzled glance.

You know him?" she whispered.

"Newcastle," he said softly as he put his ear to the door and listened. Hearing Newcastle's footsteps move towards the study, he gently opened the door and looked out. Seeing the hallway was now empty, he came to quick decision. "Stay here," he muttered over his shoulder to Amanda, "I'm going to finish this!"

"Duncan, no; remember, they are two other…"

Duncan closed the door gently after him, cutting Amanda off mid-sentence, and crept down the hallway. The study door jerked open and Newcastle's eyes widened with surprise as they caught Duncan's. "You!" he snarled, swiftly drawing his sword from his coat, "I knew we'd meet again, but I didn't think it would be so soon."

With a clash of steel, the fight began…

**Amy:**

Amy stood on the pavement and worriedly looked up at the imposing façade of the building which housed the Parisian motherhouse. The destruction of Joe's bar this morning would have left the council with a lot of questions…questions which she wasn't sure it was safe to answer if the watchers still had a traitor among their midst. "Are we sure we should do this, Dad," she asked her father softly. "I mean, what if the council demands to speak with you immediately?"

"The only member of the council who's in Paris at the moment is Byatt," Joe told her calmly. "And that old codger is probably already in his study at home, indulging in a liquid supper. It's after six, Amy; the motherhouse is going to be deserted; it's the perfect time to pay a visit.

Amy had to reluctantly agree, the motherhouse ran on a skeletal staff after normal business hours.

"What the heck is taking Lee so long," Joe grumbled as he searched the street for the immortal.

"The parking around here is abysmal, Dad," Amy said with a sigh, "He probably had to drive around to find a space. Don't worry, he'll be here soon." Her words proved prophetic as Lee suddenly came into view at the end of the street.

"About time," Joe muttered, tapping his cane against the pavement impatiently as he hitched his rucksack further up his shoulder.

Amy snapped her mouth shut, biting back the retort on her lips. She had gotten to know her father well over the last few years and she knew the signs of worry when she saw them. With Methos missing in action, and Duncan running from the police, he must be at his wits end. And Joe was never one to sit back and let events play out, he needed to _do_ something. Wryly, Amy realised they were much alike in that respect.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," Lee said as he joined them.

"Yeah, well, you're here now," Joe grumbled as he started up the steps, "Let's get going."

Lee raised an eyebrow and looked at Amy enquiringly. She shrugged, "Dad's a little impatient today," she said under her voice, "Keep your eyes open and your mouth closed and you should be able to avoid the worst of his tongue." With a silent nod, Lee followed her into the building.

A solitary figure was standing behind the reception desk. Racking her mind for a name to go with the face, Amy came up empty. She had seen him at a few of the general meetings but she'd never had a conversation with him. Apart from a few academic scholars, field agents didn't usually socialise with the motherhouse staff.

Luckily, because of his high position in the watcher society, the same couldn't be said for her father. "Hi Sam, how's the night shift?" he asked amiably, stopping in front of the desk.

"Same old, same old, Joe," Sam said as he placed the registration book in front of him and handed him a pen, "How about you? There is a rumour going around that your bar got hit by an immortal…"

"One of the hazards of the job," Her father said with a shrug as he signed the book, "You know how it is."

Sam laughed uneasily as he handed the pen to Amy. "Whatever you say, Joe; I'll just take your word on it. All I can say is; I'm glad I only work on the desk; I don't think I could handle working in the field. No…this is the spot for me; nice and quiet. Chances are I'll never meet one; Immortals don't exactly stroll into the motherhouse and sign in."

Amy muffled a snort as Sam handed the pen to Tsi Tsung. Keeping an admirably straight face, the immortal leaned down and signed the book. Sam glanced at the signature. "So, Mr Lee, I don't think I've seen you around before. Have you just transferred?"

"Mr Lee is from the Hong Kong house, Sam," Joe interjected smoothly, "He's here as a special favour to me. I'm doing some research on Duncan's time in China and I need a little help translating a journal. Unfortunately, although Mr Lee speaks excellent Mandarin, Cantonese and French; his English is a bit shaky."

Lee smiled blandly and bowed his head, "How do you do," he muttered in a strong Cantonese accent. "My name is Tsi Tsung Lee. It is a pleasure to be here." Amy covered her mouth and coughed as she tried in vain to smother a smile.

"And it's a pleasure to have you here, Mr Lee," said Sam, pitching his voice a few decibels higher. "Enjoy your stay!"

Amy didn't know if she could take much more of this. "Well," she said cheerfully, "Maybe we should make our way to the library."

"Aha!" Sam said excitedly, his eyes brightening, "This has something to do with the immortal who attacked your place this morning, doesn't it? That's why you're in such a hurry to get the library - so there's a 'China' connection, is there?"

Joe tapped the side of his nose. "Keep it to yourself, Sam," he muttered conspiratorially. "I don't want it spread around until we have all the facts…"

A serious expression spread across Sam's face. "Right you are, Joe," he muttered back, "My lips are sealed."

"Thanks Sam," Joe said, "Tell you what, you'll be the first to know once we've figured it out."

"I'll keep you to that, Joe," Sam said with a grin, "See you around…"

"Oh my god," Amy gasped as they stepped into the elevator, "That was just _too_ funny!"

"Yeah, well, you have to watch yourself with Sam," Joe said with a sly grin, "He's a bit of a gossip. Luckily, he only got transferred to Paris, from London, about three months ago and his French is as shaky as Lee's English is supposed to be. Otherwise, Lee might have got the third degree!" The door opened onto the second floor and the three stepped out onto the landing. The doors to the motherhouse library lay straight ahead. "Let me do the talking if anyone approaches us," Joe murmured under his breath as he pushed open the doors.

The library was almost deserted; they were two stressed looking young watchers poured over a few chronicles at a far desk. Probably students from the academy doing some last moment swotting, Amy surmised. A sound from behind a row of bookshelves indicated there was a third watcher perusing the chronicles and Amy craned her neck to see who it was. "Take a seat; I'll go and check the indexes and see where Turner's works are shelved," her father said into her ear.

Nodding absently, Amy wandered over to the nearest table and sat, Lee following her example. The two students glanced up from their work and Amy raised her hand in acknowledgement. Apparently satisfied, they bowed their heads over their books once more. Quietly, Amy examined her hands as she waited. Despite her father's reassurances, she was still a bit wary of being in the motherhouse; who knew who the traitor was?

The tapping of Joe's cane heralded his return. "We're in luck," he murmured, "Apparently, we have full copies of Turner's papers in-house…the chief archivist is a fan of his work and requested them when he died. They're kept in the 'Immortal Artefacts' section; Stay put, I'll be back in a moment."

Amy wriggled in her chair but gave her father a small smile, "You'd better be," she joked. Her father's eyes crinkled and he squeezed her shoulder reassuringly before he headed off to the bookshelves.

"What exactly are we hoping to find here," Lee asked in a low voice.

"I think, at this point, Dad is hoping for anything which could explain this mess," Amy sighed, "But what he'd really like is a look at the Alexandrian files. They're probably long gone, of course; but hopefully some of Turner's writings will give us a clue as to what they contained."

"That should prove interesting," Lee said

"Wouldn't it," Amy sighed.

"You don't sound very enthusiastic about the prospect," Lee observed.

"It's just everything seems to be falling apart," Amy admitted reluctantly, "First, Methos goes missing, then Duncan is arrested and is now on the run from the law – and we haven't heard from Amanda since we've left the barge...and even if we find some answers, what will we do then?"

"Well…if you put it like that…" Lee joked, "Listen, I won't pretend I understand everything that's going on here but, from the little I've seen over the last two days, I don't think your friends are the type to give up easily. I'll lay odds we'll find Amanda and Duncan safely at the De Valicourts when we get there and Methos…"

A sharp crash echoed through the room and Amy jumped to her feet with a start as a tall figure ran out of the bookshelves and through the doors.

"Amy – _stop him!_"

Hearing her father's command, she sped through the doors and scanned the hall. The man was nowhere to be seen. Quickly, she trotted over to the lift, but the light indicated the carriage was on the ground floor.

"_Well, I suppose that only leaves the stairs…"_

Cursing under her breath, Amy sprinted for the stairs and sped down the steps as she heard the door on the ground floor slam shut. Barrelling through the doors, she slowed her step as she turned the corner into the foyer. "Hey Sam," she said as she hurried past the reception desk, "I'm just stepping out for some air. I'll be back in a moment." Not waiting for an answer, she pushed through the main doors and ran down the steps, groaning as he saw her target jump into a car across the street. With a screech, the car pulled out onto the street and whizzed past as she stepped off the pavement. Shading her eyes, she squinted at the license plate and grinned triumphantly.

"_Gotcha!_"

Pulling her notebook out of her pocket, she hurriedly scribbled down the number.

**Amanda:**

Taking the safety catch off her gun, Amanda carefully cracked the door open and looked out, grimacing as she heard the sound of crossed swords. Silently, she crept into the hallway and inched towards the study, screeching to a halt as she saw the front door open slightly. Acting on impulse, she ducked under the stairs and sighted her gun on the doorway.

Fingers curled around the edge of the door and Amanda's mouth went dry as she recognised the armed figure that slipped into the hallway from his watcher file – Wren. Aiming, Amanda waited to see what he would do as he inched towards the study. As Wren aimed his gun to fire into the room, Amanda didn't hesitate; she shot him squarely in the chest. Soundlessly, Wren slumped to the floor. The study fell momentarily silent, and then the sounds of battle redoubled. Hearing a cry of pain, she ran to the study, jumping over Wren's corpse as she forgot all caution.

One glance told her all she needed to know; Duncan was loosing. "Duncan!" she gasped, raising her gun.

"Amanda, get out of here," roared a bloodied Duncan. "This is my fight!"

With a sob, Amanda backed away from the door, tripping over Wren's body as she did so. Seeing his fingers twitch, she aimed her gun again, only to have her legs kicked from beneath her. Stumbling against the front door, she kept her grip on her gun and swung it at the now moving Wren. Cursing, Wren sprinted down the hallway, crying out as Amanda's bullet caught his shoulder. Amanda fired again, catching the immortal as he barrelled through the back door.

Jumping to her feet, Amanda gave chase and shot him again as he leapt over the back gate, this time grazing his leg. Remembering there was a third immortal in the vicinity; Amanda halted and weighed her options. Without her sword, she wasn't in a position to finish Wren off and bullets would only buy her time…and who knows where the third immortal is lurking…

Looking about, she came to decision. Turning on her heels, she ran back into the house, her gun raised before her as she made her way down the hallway; as no one was out the back, the third immortal must be out front. Closing her ears against the noise, she passed the study, cautiously approached the front door, and slowly poked her head out. The street was empty of people.

Grimacing, Amanda realised the gun fire had not gone unnoticed; it was only a matter of minutes before the police were on the scene. Keeping her finger on the trigger, she hid the gun under her coat and stepped outside. Noticing an empty car that hadn't been there when they'd arrived; she casually strolled over to it and made a note of the license plate before peeking inside to make sure nobody was hiding on the backseat; no luck.

Puzzled, Amanda checked the street for signs of movement; was it possible the third immortal had fled?

_Thud!_

Startled, Amanda spun on her heels and glared at the car.

_Thud, thud!_

Amanda's eyes narrowed as she circled around the car, stopping at the boot.

_Thud!_

Frowning, Amanda debated her options. If this was the third immortal, he might strike first and ask questions later. On the other hand, if Wren had locked him in his boot, chances were they weren't best friends – and the enemy of your enemy was your friend… Abruptly, Amanda pulled out her lock picks and went to work. Hearing the lock click open, she jumped back as the boot popped up and pulled out her gun – only to lower it with a laugh as she recognized the gagged immortal in the boot. "Well hello, Methos," she drawled, grinning evilly, "Long time, no see; did you enjoy your trip?" Bound and gagged, Methos glared at her as she started to laugh. "Relax, old man," she said as she pulled the gag off his mouth, "Consider yourself rescued!"

"Where's Wren?" he spluttered as she started to pick at the handcuffs on his wrists.

"Licking his wounds somewhere," Amanda murmured as the lock gave way, "I put a few bullets in him."

Methos groaned. "He got away, then?" he asked rhetorically as he rubbed his wrists, "Where's Mac…" With a loud boom, the windows of Wren's house exploded outwards, covering them in glass. As one, they threw themselves to the ground as the house lit up with the powerful onslaught of a quickening. "Never mind, I think I already know the answer." Methos muttered.

**Joe:**

Gathering himself together, Joe held onto a bookshelf as he leaned down to retrieve his cane. Straightening up, he saw Lee homing in on him and raised his hand in acknowledgement.

"What happened?" Lee asked worriedly.

"I got jumped," Joe said shortly, "It was Halifax."

"Halifax? Isn't he the guy who…"

"Yeah, Naomi Johnson's needle loving sidekick," Joe said irritably. "What _I'd_ love to know is how he managed to get in here."

"Well, it wasn't very difficult for me," Lee pointed out.

"Only because I vouched for you," Joe countered.

"Maybe somebody did the same for Halifax," Lee suggested.

"That's an idea," Joe mused aloud, "I wonder if I can convince Sam to let me have a look at the register?"

"I say, Mr Dawson, are you okay?"

Glancing over Lee's shoulder, Joe spotted the worried face of one of the watchers who had been studying at the desks. "I'm fine," he called out, "Just got caught by surprise - did you see that man come in?"

"Um, yes," the watcher said haltingly, "Who was he?"

"Someone who shouldn't have been here," Joe said grimly, "You new here, kid?"

"Yeah," the watcher muttered embarrassedly, "I'm graduating from the academy this year. My tutor got me a pass for the library so I could do some research for my thesis."

"I see," Joe said with a nod, "What's your name, watcher?"

"Mark Ballard, sir," the young watcher said nervously, "Am I in trouble, Mr Dawson?"

"No, kid, I just wanted to know who I was talking to," Joe said with a sigh, "Tell me; was he alone when he entered the Library?"

"Well, no sir," Ballard said, "Old Byatt was with him when he came in - but he left almost immediately."

_"Byatt?"_Joe said incredulously, "Are you sure?"

"Yes sir, I'd recognise him anywhere…I attended his linguistics class last year."

Stunned, Joe went over the implications. Byatt may be an old coot, but he was still a member of the council and his word carried a lot of power. But why on earth would Byatt to turn traitor; it didn't make sense.

"Who is this Byatt?" asked Lee, puzzled.

"A watcher," Joe said shortly, before turning to Ballard. "It's okay, kid; you can go back to your chronicles. We'll take care of this."

"Whatever you say, sir," said Ballard, relief showing on his face as he made a hasty retreat.

"Good thing he's still a student," Joe muttered, "If he'd been a fully fledged watcher he would have asked a hell of a lot more questions. Let me check and see if Halifax got what he came for."

"You think he was after Turner's papers?" asked Lee curiously as he followed Joe down the aisle.

"It's a fair bet," Joe said as he halted in front of a shelf and ran his finger along the bindings. "Naomi Johnson seemed very keen to get her hands on them; after all…I don't believe it!"

"What?" asked Lee.

"For once, we've actually struck it lucky," Joe said with a grin as he pulled a number of books off the shelves and put them into his rucksack. "Now all we've got to do is go up to the office floor."

"Huh?" Lee muttered, "Why would we do that?"

"Well, I don't know about you, but _I'd_ like to check out Byatt's office. Who knows, our luck might hold out and he might still be there," Joe said happily as hitched the rucksack onto his shoulder and headed for the doors.

"What about Amy?" Lee asked.

"What _about _me?"

Joe looked up to see his daughter standing in the doorway. "You lost him, then?" he asked.

"Afraid so," she sighed, "But I did get his license plate number – who was he?"

"Halifax."

"Isn't he…"

"Yeah," Joe muttered grimly, "That was him…and it gets worse."

Amy groaned. "What now?"

"Apparently he had a personal escort into the building; you'll never guess who…John Byatt."

Amy's eyes went round as Joe's words sank in. "But he's been a watcher for _years_; he's on the council, for crying out loud."

"Which makes his defection all the more serious," Joe said coldly, "I want to check out his office and see if we can find out anything."

Amy nodded in agreement and held the door open for him, following behind as they walked down the hall. Silently, they trooped into the elevator and Joe aggressively stabbed the button.

"What will we do if he's in the office," Amy asked quietly.

"Then he and I are going to have a very serious conversation," Joe said shortly, looking up as the elevator doors opened. "And then he's going to find out what it's like to be dragged up in front of a tribunal; and, from personal experience, I can tell you its not very nice."

Stepping out onto the landing, Joe turned to his daughter. "Are you armed?"

"Yes," Amy murmured, patting her coat.

"Good," Joe muttered. "Johnson and Halifax took my piece. Be ready, there might be trouble." Amy pulled out her gun in answer and Lee reached into his coat and produced a weapon of his own.

"I didn't know you carried a gun," Joe observed.

"Not my favourite weapon," Lee admitted, "But I find it pays to carry one…just in case."

Joe led the way down the hall and stopped in front of Byatt's office, putting his fingers to his lips as he heard movement inside. Gently, he tested the door handle and gave the nod to Amy and Lee as he pushed the door open, the door slammed into the wall with a crash. Glaring into the room, Joe saw the watcher, Byatt, drop the papers in his hand with a start. "Going somewhere," he enquired sarcastically as he noted the open filing cabinets and Byatt's briefcase, stuffed with papers, on the table.

"Joe!" the elderly watcher stuttered as he bent to pick up the papers he had dropped, "What are you doing here?"

"You can drop the act, John," Joe snarled as he stormed into the room and knocked the papers out of Byatt's hand with his cane. "We know what you've been up to."

Byatt's shoulders drooped as he stood up, leaving the papers on the ground. "I see," he murmured sadly. "So, what happens to me now?"

"Damn it, John!" Joe roared. "That's all you can say? Why, man? You've been a watcher for over fifty years."

"What do you expect me to say, Joe - that I'm sorry, I won't do it again? Byatt said sadly. "I'm sorry, Joe; I can't do that."

"I don't understand," Joe sighed, frustration showing in his voice. "Johnson is an _immortal,_ John. I know she was once a watcher but let's face it; she wasn't a very good one. Why would you let her lackey into the library? God only knows what he would have done if I hadn't caught him in the act."

"Because she came to me and asked for my help, Joe; and I couldn't refuse her, no matter what's she's done or what she has become. How could I? She's my granddaughter…"

"Oh shit, John," Joe said, his anger dissipating, "I didn't know."

"No reason you should have," said Byatt softly, "She's my daughter's child, the one who married Fred Johnson…"

"The archivist in the Istanbul motherhouse," Joe said, nodding.

"Yeah, that's him," Byatt muttered as he slumped into a seat, "Not much of a husband, but he made my daughter happy and Naomi…she's adopted, of course, but she's still my grandchild…they named her after my late wife, you know."

"You can't protect her anymore, John," Joe murmured tiredly, "She's part of the game, now; what you've been doing, it's got to stop."

"I don't have any choice, do I?" Byatt said in defeat.

"No, you don't," Joe said as he pulled up a chair and sat. "You're going to have to tell me everything, John; you might as well start at the beginning…"

**Methos:**

Methos watched ruefully as the last of the quickening died away, rolling to his feet he held out his hand to Amanda, who took it and pulled herself up. "Who was it?" he asked.

"A guy called Newcastle," murmured Amanda as she took a step towards the building.

"Hold it, Amanda," Methos muttered, grabbing her arm, "Give him a moment."

"You don't understand, Methos," Amanda said worriedly, "Last I saw, Duncan was _losing_; I have to know."

Methos let her go and watched her run into the house, turning his attention to the street. A few curtains twitched but all the doors were still firmly shut. He knew that would change as soon as the gendarmes arrived, however. No doubt there would be many neighbours happily pointing fingers. Sighing, he decided to follow Amanda into the house. "Amanda?" he called out, poking his head in through the door.

Amanda's voice floated out into the hall through an open door to his left. "In here, Methos."

Stepping through the debris, Methos followed her voice and found himself in the ruined remains of a study. "I like what you've done with the place," he said lightly as he spotted Duncan bent over in a chair, Amanda leaning over him, "Bad quickening?"

"Unpleasant," Duncan said hoarsely, "And not my first today. Are the cops here yet?"

"No, and I don't intend to hang around and wait for them," Methos muttered. "Is there a way out through the back?"

"Yes," Amanda piped up, "I chased Wren into the garden; there is a gate which leads into a back lane."

"Right, let's go," Methos said impatiently, "We have plans to make…"

"And a few questions to answer," retorted Amanda as she helped Duncan to his feet, the more serious of his wounds still hadn't closed over.

"One is connected with the other, believe me," said Methos, glancing at Duncan's clothing and then at his own. "Bugger, we're not going to get far dressed like this. Wait for me in the garden; I'll see if I can find a few things to cover this up."

Sprinting up the stairs, Methos tried the first room with an open door and made a beeline for the wardrobe. Finding both an overcoat and a jacket, he threw the anorak on and ran down the steps. He found Amanda and Duncan in the garden, Amanda clutching a suitcase and laptop. "What are those?"

"Spoils," Amanda said simply, "I'll show you mine, if you show me yours!"

Rolling his eyes, Methos smirked as he shook his head. "You can't help yourself, can you," he asked rhetorically.

"It's a gift," Amanda said with aplomb, "Now, if you don't mind, I think we should try and make our getaway now…"

Cocking his head, Methos heard the distant sound of sirens. That might be a good idea," he muttered as he handed the overcoat to Duncan, who wordlessly put it on. At a half run, they burst through the back gate and found themselves on a small, narrow laneway.

"Left or right?" asked Amanda urgently.

"Right," Methos said grimly, "The further we get from the sound of sirens, the better." The lane opened up onto a leafy suburban street and the three came to halt. "We need transport," Methos muttered, "How good are your car-jacking skills, Amanda."

"At a guess, better than yours," Amanda retorted, pulling out her lock pins and heading for the nearest car, a modest looking ford fiesta.

"The sirens have stopped," Duncan observed. "It won't be long before they spread out to search the area."

"I'm going as fast as I can," Amanda said, "Give me a moment, I nearly have it," With a snick, the door opened and Amanda's hand snaked in to push up the back door's lock. "Get in."

Silently, Duncan jumped into the back seat, pulling the suitcase and laptop in with him, Methos squeezed in beside him. Impatiently, he watched Amanda pull the wires out from under the wheel, "Amanda…"

"I know, I know," she said. "I'm nearly there…" The car revved into life and Amanda sat back into the driver's seat with a grin. "Where to, gentlemen?" she asked flippantly.

"Just get us out of here, Amanda," Duncan murmured, fatigue showing in his voice.

"Right then, Gina's it is," she said, pulling the car out onto the street. The car fell silent as Amanda drove through the streets, Methos keeping a wary eye out the back. Eventually, they reached the outskirts of the city and Methos found himself relaxing. "So…are you at least going to tell us how you ended up in Wren's boot?" Amanda asked, looking at him through the rear view mirror.

"He waylaid me near the barge," Methos sighed, "I didn't realise he had backup; Newcastle, I suppose."

"I doubt it," Duncan muttered, "He's been too busy trying to kill me today."

"Ah," Methos said, realisation dawning, "He was the immortal who ran the police car off the road?"

"I see you got my messages," Amanda interjected dryly, "Where the hell were you, Methos?"

"I had a little unfinished business I had to take care of," Methos prevaricated, unsure as to how to broach the subject. "I paid a little visit to Darius's springs…"

"Did you do what I think you did," Duncan asked quietly.

"Yes; worked like a charm, too," Methos admitted.

"How does it feel?" Duncan asked.

"Different," Methos said, shrugging his shoulders to convey the words he couldn't find.

Duncan's eyes glinted with understanding, "Been there, done that," he said with a small smile. "But why now, Methos, why after all this time? You must have realised the waters would heal you a long time ago."

"Because, in the last few days, I couldn't shake off the sensation I was missing something. With every piece of new information, I kept on getting the feeling we weren't seeing the whole picture; and when Joe mentioned the Alexandrian files…well…lets just say all the alarm bells started ringing. Not surprising, really, seeing as Joe was right after all. I do have the file, though Turner wasn't chasing after me to find them. He was the one who sent them to me in the first place…"

"What do they say?" interrupted Amanda. "Do they really explain the origin's of the game?"

"Tribeau tell you that?" Methos asked dryly.

"He may have mentioned it."

Methos sighed, how the hell would explain this mess? "He's right, they do," he said softly, inwardly wincing as he saw Mac tense in the seat beside him.

"Let's hear it," the Highlander said, straightening up in his seat.

"Well…do you remember the Sumerian text we found at the Istanbul motherhouse last year?" Methos enquired.

"The one which explained the origins of the Methuselah stone," Amanda volunteered.

"That's the one," Methos confirmed, "Well…do you remember how it described how An and Enlil granted Ziusudra immortality through the stone, and how Ziusudra gave the stone to his son who then did a runner?"

"We're not going to like this, are we," Amanda asked quietly.

"No, but then you never expected to, did you?" Methos countered. "Anyway, Ziusudra's son, Kathul I believe his name was, managed to evade An and Enlil by leaving the garden of Dilmun and fleeing to the 'mortal coil'. Unfortunately, the arrival of Kathul and the Methuselah in the outside world had a few repercussions."

"The game?" asked Duncan, puzzled.

"No, not the game, immortals," Methos said. "The arrival of Kathul and the stone made it possible for immortals to exist - we were an accident, the result of one man's foolish mistake."

"But it's all just a myth, right?" Duncan protested.

"Buggered if I know," Methos said with a sigh. "If you asked a physicist, I'm sure he'd give you a very logical and scientific explanation; probably involving alternate dimensions and rifts or some such nonsense."

"Does that mean we're from another dimension?" asked Amanda incredulously.

Methos laughed. "No. we're from terra firma," he said. "It's the Methuselah stone, you see. Where it comes from, or why it does it does what it does, I don't have the foggiest; hell, for all I know, it could originate from right here, created by some long lost civilisation. But, whatever it is, it serves it purpose well, it grants immortality…At first, Kathul didn't realise what was happening. He just happily wandered the land, moving from one town to another, while the stone did what it was designed to do. It did show _some_ discernment, though; it only targeted infants and, for some strange reason, only infants who were abandoned to their own devices."

Amanda's head spun around. "You mean…"

"Yeah, we are not foundlings because we are immortal, but immortal because we are foundlings," Methos sighed.

"And you read all this in the Alexandrian papers?" asked Duncan.

"Well, not exactly," Methos answered cagily. "The Alexandrian papers were a lot sketchier. "I'm filling in the gaps from what my teacher told me."

"Your teacher?"

"What can I say," Methos said with a shrug, "My little dip in the pool was a real eye opener."

"And the game?" Amanda prompted.

"Ah yes, the game," Methos muttered. "Well, to explain that I have to back to Kathul. He figured out what was happening, you see, and he panicked. He may have carried the stone, but he had absolutely no control over it. At first he kept away from all the settlements. Avoiding all contact with people in the hope it would prevent more immortals being created. But, from all accounts, the poor bastard was miserable; he obviously didn't have it in him to be a hermit. So eventually he decided to go back wherever he came from…except he couldn't.

"Why not?" asked Amanda, turning in her seat once more.

"Keep an eye on the road, would you, Amanda?" Methos complained. "You're making me nervous."

"Stop trying to change the subject, old man," Amanda said as she returned her eyes to the road.

"I'm not trying to change the subject," Methos protested. "I'm just…tired. Listen, can this wait until we reach Gina's? I don't feel like telling this story all over again when we get there."

Reluctantly, Amanda nodded and Duncan grunted in assent. Relieved, Methos sat back in his seat and closed his eyes. He had a few minutes respite before the shit _really_ hit the fan…

T.B.C…


	8. Chapter 8

**I bet you thought you'd never see this – and you're not the only one! I didn't think I could pull it together either. There is one problem with writing long, plotty stories. If you don't keep on top of them, the little details tend to get away from you – and so do the plot, characters and general story ending…**

**Consider yourself warned, there is a lot more angst in this chapter than I usually indulge in – although probably not as much as some would like:-)**

**Chapter Eight**

**Joe:**

"Maybe I should have suspected something when I found out about the disappearance of Naomi's body, but I didn't,' John Byatt said softly as he slumped in his chair. "I've dealt with immortals all my adult life. I knew the signs, knew that Naomi was a foundling, but when it's one of your own...well, love is blind, as they say."

Joe sighed hoarsely as he noticed the new lines on Byatt's face, John was getting on in years but now, for the first time, he looked truly _old_. "When did you find out she was an immortal," he asked softly.

"About two months ago," Byatt admitted, "She just turned up on my doorstep. I can't explain how that felt…you'd have to experience it to understand. One moment, she was dead; the next, she was alive again, sipping tea at my kitchen table. I knew what had happened the moment she opened the door, of course. Love may be blind, but it's rarely deaf and dumb too. It wasn't until she explained about Tribeau that I realised how much trouble she'd gotten herself into…she was innocent, you know. She really didn't know her boss was a traitor, but I suppose it doesn't matter now."

Joe's heart went out to Byatt as he noticed the tears welling up in the older watcher's eyes. What would have he done if he'd been in the same position…if it had been Amy. Probably the same thing as Byatt, he realised with a sinking heart, remembering how he'd once almost sold out Methos in order to save his daughter's life. Joe grimaced, that day still left a bad taste in his mouth. "What did she tell you, John?" he asked as he caught Amy's eyes and pointed to the decanter on the sideboard. Silently, she poured a glass of the brandy and placed it in front of Byatt.

With a small, grateful nod, Byatt took a sip. "She told me that Tribeau had taken her in and put her to work, tracking down other immortals," he continued as he cradled the glass in his hands. "Not to kill them, you understand, but to recruit them."

"Recruit them for what, John?" Joe prompted as he noticed the glass shake in Byatt's hands.

"For the gathering," Byatt said softly.

Joe shuddered, he had suspected, of course, but he had hoped he was wrong. Unfortunately, it didn't seem he was.

"But it _can't_ be!"

Joe looked up, startled at Amy's outburst, "You knew it was a possibility-"

A possibility, yes," Amy muttered, "But isn't it just as possible Tribeau was lying?"

"Believe me, nobody in this room hopes for that as much as I," Lee spoke up, "But the signs are all there-"

"Signs, my foot," Amy snorted, "This only confirms Tribeau and Wren are psychotic and Naomi is a gullible fool—"

"There's more," Byatt said quietly, "Do you want to hear it?"

"Want to? No," Joe sighed tiredly. "Need to hear it? I'm afraid so…" How had things gotten so bad, he thought glumly, could he have prevented this? Joe leaned back in his chair and stared at the older watcher as Amy put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"Tribeau has a boss…and I can see, from the look on your face, that this doesn't come as news to you," Byatt said, astutely, "He goes by the name of Wren, but his true name is Octavius Septimus."

"We know," Lee said softly.

"Yes, I suppose I should have known that," Byatt murmured. "Tell me, Mr Lee, why are you here? I always got the impression, from your files, that you liked to keep a low profile."

Tsi Tsung shrugged, "Let's just say events conspired against me," he said.

"John, please, you need to tell us the rest," Joe interrupted.

Byatt took another sip of his drink. "Well, apparently Octavius has supposedly found the key to the Immortal's origins and has discovered what the gathering entails," he sighed, "And he's set the wheels in motion so that he'll get his wish."

"And what wish is that?" Amy asked, archly.

"To be the last one left standing, of course," Byatt replied with a weary shrug, "Of course, Naomi didn't know the full truth of Wren's plans until she was in too deep and, when Tribeau disappeared, she suddenly fund herself alone with Wren and his cronies. It was then she decided to make a break for it and try to beat him to the finish line."

"Wait a minute," Amy piped up, "You're saying that Naomi made a break for it? I was under the impression Wren had cut her loose."

"Cut her loose? You must be kidding," Byatt snorted, "Naomi may have been at the bottom of the heap, but she still knew too much for Wren to just let her walk away. No, Wren wants her back, alright; though he's not really picky about what condition he gets her back in – that's why I couldn't turn her away," Byatt pleaded as he turned his gaze to Joe, "I've read his files; I couldn't let my baby go through that."

Joe mind flitted back to the expression on Naomi's face when she ordered Halifax to inject him. She wasn't the innocent child her grandfather thought. "Naomi has to face up to the consequence of her actions, John," He said, harshness creeping back into his voice, "She may not have realised what had been going on before her first death, but she did know after. She could have chosen to not track Tribeau down."

"But who else could she have turned to?" Byatt protested.

"She was a watcher, John," Joe retorted, "If she didn't know which Immortal she could turn to for some _real_ help, who would?"

"It wasn't like that," the elder watcher muttered, "She was scared and confused –"

"And an _adult,_ John. You can't…" Joe sighed and shook his head, "Listen, this is getting us nowhere. We need some answers and we need them fast. What is it you haven't told us, John?"

"The Methuselah Stone," Byatt muttered.

"What about it?" Joe asked tiredly.

"It's the key, Joe," Byatt said, sadly.

"The Methuselah Stone doesn't exist anymore, "Amy declared, "It was destroyed last year."

"Was it?"

What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Amy demanded roughly, "Of course it was destroyed, Adam did it _himself_…"

Joe glanced up as he heard the quiver in her voice, "_Amy_," he asked.

Amy's eyes shied away under Joe's stare. "I promised I wouldn't tell," she muttered.

Joe groaned, " _Adam_," he growled, "Byatt, put your coat on; it's time to go."

"Go where…would someone tell me what's going on?" Lee asked, annoyed.

"I'll explain on the way to Gina's," Joe said grimly, "And then I'm going to hunt down a certain immortal and show him a thing or two about _repercussions."_

"Dad, it wasn't like that," Amy said urgently, "He had reasons, good reasons. Promise me you will listen to his side of the story before you leap to conclusions -please?"

Seeing the expression on his daughter's face, Joe relented, "It'd better be good," he warned, "Because I'm not in the mood for more lies."

**Duncan:**

Frowning, Duncan studied Methos's face as silence fell in the car. The elder immortal seemed to be asleep but Duncan knew better. His eyes may be closed, but the tension in his shoulders belied his appearance. "Awake, alert and terrified," Duncan thought, grimly, "Damn, it _must_ be bad."

He tried in vain to shrug off the feeling of foreboding that had settled on him but he couldn't. He had known Methos for over ten years and if he had learned anything about his immortal friend, it was that if he said things were bad, he was usually understating the fact.

Watching Methos out of the corner of his eye, Duncan pulled Wren's address book out of his pocket and leafed through it.

"Anyone interesting?"

Duncan glanced up and caught Amanda's enquiring eyes in the rear view mirror before turning his gaze to the page in front of him. "I recognise a few of the names," he admitted, "Though I'm not sure what kind of address book this is…Stephen Keane is in here."

"Keane? You mean…"

Byrne's student, yes," Duncan said, sighing as he remembered the pain on the other immortal's face when he had spared his life."

"Somehow I don't see Chapman as the kind of Immortal who would join up with Wren, he struck me as the honourable type."

Grimacing, Duncan nodded, "An address book of potential targets, then?" he asked aloud.

"One way to find out, look up your own name," Amanda suggested.

"Ha, ha," Duncan muttered, flicking to the 'Ms' all the same.

"Well?" Amanda enquired.

"You're right, I'm here," he muttered.

"Must be nice to know you're so popular," Amanda said lightly as she turned onto the gravelled driveway that led up to the De Valicourt's mansion. "Oh look, its Joe …and he doesn't look very happy."

Looking out the window, Duncan spotted the watcher standing in the driveway, scowling darkly as his eyes rested on the slumped form beside him. "Oh, oh," he muttered "Methos, I know you're not asleep…and I think Joe wants to speak to you,

"How bad is it?" Methos muttered without opening his eyes.

"Lets put it this way – are you armed?"

"Ah, just what I need to brighten up my day, an angry Dawson," the elder immortal murmured as he reluctantly opened his eyes. Plastering what had to be the fakest smile on the planet on his face, Methos opened the car door and jumped out. "Hey, Joe, how's tricks.

"Don't you 'how's tricks' me, you lying, conniving, son of a bitch," Joe snarled. "Count yourself lucky I'm not carrying a gun at this moment!"

"Listen, I know I shouldn't have run out on you like that, but I had a good reason, honest," Methos said, ducking as Joe lifted his cane and swung.

Duncan winced as the cane struck across the immortals shoulders. "Hey, Joe, calm down, " he called out as he scrambled out of the car and stepped between them. "What's with you? I know he shouldn't have gone off like that but don't you think you're overreacting a bit?"

"He lied to us," Joe roared, "The bastard lied to us!"

"_Dad_, you promised me you wouldn't do this," called out Amy as she hurried out of the house.

"Guess what? I _lied_."

"What's going on here, Joe?" Duncan glanced over his shoulder at Amanda, noting the worried expression on her face as she stepped out of the car.

"Care to tell her, Methos, or shall I?" Joe bit out angrily.

"I don't understand…" Methos said, his voice trailing off as he caught the expression on Amy's face.

"Sorry, Methos, he knows," she murmured softly.

"Damn," Methos muttered, giving Joe a sideways glance. "I was hoping to break it to him gently."

"Bullshit!" Joe roared, "You weren't going to tell us anything. You wouldn't know how to tell the truth if your life depended on it!"

Duncan looked over his shoulder at Methos and caught the resigned expression on his eyes. "Care to tell me what's going on?" Duncan asked softly, turning to face him.

"He's talking about the Methuselah Stone," Methos murmured.

"What about the stone?" Amanda said, puzzled, "Oh…oh no, tell me he's wrong"

Duncan cursed inwardly as Methos buried his hands in his pockets and shook his head silently, his heart sinking as he saw the look of betrayal on Amanda's face.

"You bastard," she said flatly, "You knew how much that stone meant to me. You _knew_ it was all I had left of Rebecca, and you let me think you'd destroyed it. How could you?"

"What else could I have done, Amanda. I needed them to believe it was destroyed, or they would have kept on coming. They were too much of a threat," Methos pleaded.

"And what about us, Methos?" Amanda countered, "Or were we too much of a 'threat' too?"

"Amanda, please, we don't have time for this—"

"Don't have time for this?" Amanda echoed grimly, "You had a _whole year_ to tell us."

"I know, I _know."_

**Methos**

"_Well, you've buggered this up royally, old man_." The thought flitted through his mind as he watched Amanda's face grow hard. She was right, he should have told her; but first the days had passed, then the weeks, and then…. Well, it had just seemed better to let sleeping dogs lie. _"But they didn't stay asleep, did they?"_

He took a deep breath, "I know that it really doesn't help much but the last thing I wanted was hurt you, Amanda. It just seemed the right thing to do at time," he offered. "It was just…." Methos shivered. "Listen," he said, huddling into his coat. "Why don't we continue this conversation inside? It's getting a bit chilly."

"You'll be more than a little bit _chilly,_ if this isn't good, Methos," Amanda said flatly as she turned around on her heels and stalked up the steps.

"She isn't going to make this easy, is she?" Methos observed aloud.

"I don't think you deserve to have it easy, Methos," Duncan said as he followed her into the house.

Methos let his eyes slide over to Joe and Amy, and swiftly turned away as Joe glared at him darkly. "Well, then, inside we go…" he muttered as he strode ahead of the two watchers and climbed the steps.

"Ah, there you are," a soft French accent pronounced as he crossed the threshold, and Methos looked up to see Gina glide into the hallway. "I'd wondered when you'd turn up."

"You know me, a regular bad penny," Methos joked half-heartedly.

"So I've heard," Gina observed lightly. "They're in the drawing room, by the way. And they don't look very happy… you look terrible."

"Direct, as always."

Gina answered with a Gallic shrug. "I've always believed in honesty… in small doses," she said softly as she grabbed a wrap from beside the door and threw it over her shoulders "I'll join you in a minute. I just have to find Lee; he decided to take a tour of the gardens just before you arrived." Methos nodded absently as he headed for the drawing room, ignoring the soft murmur behind him as Gina paused to exchange a few words with Amy and Joe.

The door to the drawing room was closed, and Methos paused as he heard the urgent lilt of Duncan's voice through the wood. "…I know, I _know_, Amanda; but you know how he is. The guy is so used to keeping secrets, he doesn't know when to quit. A few years of friendship isn't going to miraculously override his sense of self-preservation …I learnt that the hard way." Methos winced slightly at Duncan's words and laid his hand on the handle, halting in his tracks as Amanda laughed bitterly.

"Please, Duncan, don't lecture me. I have first hand knowledge of how his secrets can ruin lives," she said darkly. "And I'm not about to let him ruin mine—"

"Eavesdropping, old man?"

Methos turned to see Joe standing behind him, Amy hovering by his side with haunted expression on her face. "Just collecting my thoughts, Joe," Methos said, his voice mild as he turned the handle and stepped into the room, ignoring Joe's snort of disbelief.

"That's _him_," a voice said querulously. "That's the man who has the Alexandrian files."

Methos turned to eye the elderly man who had just jumped to his feet and sighed as he caught a glimpse of the tattoo on his wrist as he pointed. Great, that's all he needed, another watcher. "Who's he," Methos said abruptly.

"John Byatt, one of the old guard," Amy eventually supplied as silence reigned in the room. "He's also happens to be Naomi Johnson's grandfather."

"Lovely, that's just lovely," Methos muttered in disgust. "Would anybody care to tell me why he's here?"

"Not particularly," Joe said harshly as levered himself onto a seat.

"Fine, fine," Methos murmured, rubbing his eyes tiredly as he tried to remember how long it had been since he'd slept. "Right then, let's get on with this. What do you want to know?"

Once more, quiet filled the room and Methos looked up to see the others staring at him silently. "Okay then," he drawled as the seconds dragged on. "How about I rephrase the question? What is it you want to know first?"

Duncan sighed and shook his head as he leaned against the fireplace. "You should start with the Alexandrian files, I suppose," he said quietly. "And what your teacher told you."

"Hey, wait a minute, I thought you couldn't remember your teacher," Joe said, his eyes narrowing "Or was that just another lie?"

"It wasn't," Amanda said reluctantly. "He just remembered today.

"What? He just woke up and had an epiphany or something?" Joe said, disbelief showing in his voice. "Pull the other one."

"I took a dip in Darius's pool," Methos said shortly. "And that is all I'm willing to say in present company, he added, glaring at Byatt, who shrunk back from the look in Methos' eyes.

"What is going on here?" Byatt said shakily, glancing at Joe for reassurance.

Joe muttered something inaudible under his breath, before turning to Amy. "How about you take John for a stroll through the gardens," he said.

"But…" Amy's voice trailed off as she felt the weight of Methos' eyes on her. "Oh, very well… but I expect to be filled in later," she added with aspiration as she got to her feet and nodded at Byatt. "Come on, lets get some fresh air," she said dryly as Byatt looked nervously around the room.

Byatt slowly stood up and left the room under Amy's watchful eye. "You know, I'd really like to know why you brought him here," Methos murmured softly as the door closed behind them. "All things considered, I don't think we should have him around us at the moment. He might hear something he shouldn't."

"And what was I supposed to do?" Joe snapped. "Turn him loose so that he'd run to his granddaughter? Or were you thinking of a more final answer, like killing him?"

Methos met Joe's accusing eyes and shrugged. "Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of handing him over to the watcher's council and letting them handle it …although I suppose you could call that killing him. You guys don't exactly follow the dictates of the Geneva convention." Guilt stabbed him as he watched his jibe hit home. It hadn't been a very fair accusation. Methos knew that Joe didn't approve of the watcher's draconian methods of dealing with dissidents among their ranks. But he was tired, damn it, and he didn't feel up to playing this game.

"Listen, we don't have time for this," Duncan interjected. "Just tell us what you know, Methos.."

Methos glanced at the Highlander's worried face. "Shouldn't we wait for Gina?"

"We'll fill her in when she gets here- "

Methos opened his mouth to object but Amanda beat him to it. "No, Methos, no more excuses, _talk,"_ she said.

Shrugging, Methos filled Joe in on what he'd told Amanda and Duncan in the car, trepidation growing inside him as he saw the astonishment and disbelief grow on his face.

"So let me get this straight," Joe eventually said as Methos paused for breath. You're saying that Rebecca's crystal is responsible for the existence of immortals – are you having me on?" he said incredulously.

"I wish I were, Joe"

"And the game?"

Ah yes_, that_ is little more complicated," Methos muttered. "You've got understand that even my teacher heard this second or third hand, and I don't know how much is truth and how much is supposition—"

Joe snorted, "Stop stalling, old man."

Taking a deep breath, Methos nodded as he studied his hands. "As I said, the stone is the reason for our immortality. Even in its broken state, it's power to grant immortality is undiminished. I…I think Rebecca suspected this, which is why she broke the stone up and gave it to her students. I think she thought if there were enough of us, we'd start to question the game, or start to wonder about whether there needs to be only one, if our numbers just kept growing and growing…. pretty much a failed experiment, I think. I don't think our kind would believe the truth if it slapped them in the face. The game is so ingrained in us, at this point; there isn't any going back."

Looking around the room, Methos heard his voice go flat as he continued. "The game is a lie. A ruse devised by the first of us, Kathul, to return the stone to its original state. There is no prize, not for us, anyway. The only winner would be Kathul…if he's still alive, which I doubt. Otherwise, why would the stone have passed on to my teacher, and then to Rebecca's?"

"What the hell are you trying to say, Methos," Amanda said quietly.

Methos closed his eyes. "The reason Kathul couldn't return to his original world," he said, "Was because the stone is connected to us. _We're_ keeping it here, tied to the 'mortal coil', and as long as Immortals existed, Kathul, or whoever the hell he was, couldn't return to where he came from, and…well, I think you can figure out the rest."

Opening his eyes, Methos met their stunned faces. "Well, say something…."

"What do you expect us to say?" Duncan asked quietly.

"Damned if I know," Methos sighed. "But I do know this; If we don't stop Wren, we're in deep trouble…especially if he finds out that the stone hasn't been destroyed. You know the old saying 'a little knowledge is a dangerous thing'? Well, if we're not careful, we're going to find out how true that saying is first hand.

"How much does he know?" Duncan asked.

"Exactly? I'm not sure, the knowledge an Immortal gains from taking a head varies from person to person, but he doesn't know everything; that much is evident.

"Whose head did he take?" Joe piped up as he shifted in his chair.

Methos winced, "My teacher," he admitted, "Though how, I don't know. She was one tough immortal…."

"She?" Amanda echoed.

Methos' mouth twisted wryly. "Yes, Amanda, _she_," he drawled. "Why? Did you expect—"

A scream echoed through the room, and all three immortals froze. "That's Amy's voice," Amanda said lowly as her eyes darted to the window.

**Amanda**

"The garden," Duncan said grimly as he rushed to the door and wrenched it open.

"I'll meet you there," Amanda called out as she darted to the window and jumped out, landing lightly on her feet. Pulling out her gun, she ignored Methos' curse as he landed beside her, and ran around the corner of the house, in the direction of the scream.

"So, what's the plan?" Methos whispered as he caught up with her

"Still not talking to you," she muttered, as she saw Duncan emerging from the back door and heading for the rose gardens.

"Oh, the silent treatment," he said as his gaze followed hers. "Real mature."

Amanda sighed. "I'm not in the mood, Methos," she murmured as she took off after Duncan. "How about we keep the sniping down to a minimum until we find Amy?"

"Fine with me," he returned, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the rolling lawn they ran across. "You know, there is something a bit off about this…"

Amanda snorted. "You just figured that out?"

"No sniping, remember? " Methos said, his narrowed eyes belying the light tone of his voice.

"Fine, whatever," she snapped back

"Whatever?" Amusement glimmered in Methos's voice as he overtook her and veered to the left.

"Hey, what do you think you're doing?" she hissed, coming to a halt as she realised he was heading in the direction of the Road. "Duncan is over that way!"

"Something tells me that Amy isn't there anymore," he called back, "Come _on_."

Cursing under her breath, Amanda ran after him. Methos may be a lying conniving, son of a bitch, but he did have a good instinct for this kind of thing - more is the pity. "You'd better be right about this," she panted as she caught up with him.

"Here's hoping," he muttered as he put a final bust of speed into his step and leapt over the low wall onto the road. "Shit!" Methos backed up against the wall and hunkered down behind a piece of hedge.

Hopping onto the wall above him, Amanda's eyes narrowed as the familiar shiver of another immortal's presence found it's way up her spine. "_Damn, I should have caught that,"_ Crouching down, she realised why Methos had suddenly veered off in the other direction. With both Gina and Lee supposedly already in the garden, they should have picked up their presences immediately… but they hadn't. Dropping to ground beside him, she peered in the direction of Methos' gaze. "What the hell is going on?" she hissed as her eyes fell on two vans parked on the side of the road.

"Betrayal," Methos said grimly, as he pointed at the open hatch door of the nearest van.

"What?" Amanda peered as she caught movement inside, "why do you think that we've been –oh," Amanda fell silent a Lee jumped out of the van and scanned the road..

"I didn't see it coming either," Methos said softly, his hand pulling her back against the wall as their gazes met.

"This doesn't make sense," she murmured as she peeked out from behind the hedge.

"Careful, if we can sense him, he can sense us," Methos warned. " I don't suppose you have another gun on you, by the way. Wren relieved me of my weapons."

What? All of them?" Amanda said, surprise momentarily distracting her.

"All of them," Methos confirmed quietly as he craned his neck over her shoulder. "We've got movement."

Amanda turned to see a group of mortals, led by Wren, approaching the vehicles. Her breath caught in her throat as she noticed he was dragging a gagged Amy by the arm. "We've got to do something!" she hissed as they bundled her into the second van.

"We're out numbered, Amanda, and I wouldn't want to risk a firefight with Amy stuck in the middle. Too many things could go wrong."

"Amanda's heart sank as she realised Methos was right. "So, what do we do?" she said, her mouth going dry as she watched Amy bundled into the back of the second van.

"Nothing, for now"

"You _can't _be serious!"

"If you have any better suggestions, I willing to hear them, Amanda," he snapped back. "But as far as I can see, the best chance Amy has for getting out of this alive is for us to wait until they have their guard down – and that isn't going to happen here!"

And what if they decided she isn't worth keeping alive?"

Methos flinched, but kept his voice even. "Let's hope that doesn't happen."

Helplessly, Amanda watched as the men boarded the vehicles. "I can't believe we're letting them get away with this," she murmured as the engines revved into life and the vans pulled away.

"Trust me," Amanda, Methos said stiffly. "They're not getting away with anything. This game has gone on long enough; it's time to get nasty.

Amanda turned and studied the elder immortal as he leapt gracefully over the wall and stalked towards to the house. Was it her imagination, or was there a certain something in Methos's voice. Something she hadn't heard in a hell of a long time.. "_Oh dear,_" Amanda thought suddenly, as things began to click into place. "_Joe isn't going to like that_."

**Amy**

Amy flinched as the van trundled across another pothole and she slid forward, almost falling off the narrow metal bench she'd been thrown on. She tried to dig her heels in, to break her descent to the floor, but whatever way they'd tied her feet, she couldn't seem to gain purchase. Finding herself propped on the edge, she clawed with her hands at the smooth surface of the seat but the hemp rope just dug in tighter, taking away another layer of skin from her wrists. Rope burn wasn't pleasant.

A large meaty hand grabbed her by the shoulder and slammed her back into the seat. "Move again and you'll _regret _it." Amy looked up and glared at the henchman above her, who just smirked as he dropped onto the bench across from her and cradled his gun in his hands. Amy wrinkled her nose in disgust and looked away, her eyes resting on the Byatt, his unmoving body on the bench beside her.

It had all happened so fast. One moment, she'd been staring, speechless, as Lee hovered over an unconscious Gina; the next, she'd felt a gun placed to head. Byatt had tried to make a break for it; he had put up quite a fight, surprising her with the amount of strength still hiding behind his frail, elderly exterior, but he had been out numbered three to one, and when the butt of the gun was brought down on his head, he had silently slumped to the ground.

How the hell did this happen? Amy sighed; she knew exactly how this had happened. Lee had betrayed them. Frowning, she thought back to Lee's troubled face as he crouched on his heels over Gina's unconscious body, and the look of resignation when she'd stumbled across him. Funny, he hadn't looked very triumphant when she'd been captured. If anything, he'd looked defeated.

Damn it, what the hell is going on here?

TBC….


End file.
